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GENERAL EDITOR 

WILBUR LUCIUS CROSS 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN YALE UNIVERSITY 




Matthew Arnold 



From the portrait in the National Portrait Gallery painted and pre- 
sented by G. F. Watts, R. A. 



POEMS OF 

WORDSWORTH 



WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY 
MATTHEW ARNOLD - 



EDITED BY 
MYRON R. WILLIAMS 

INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN PHILLIPS EXETER ACADEMY 




NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 






Copyright, 1922 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY ( 



Printed in the United States of America 



^i^ 



^^'ii ^ K 



0)C1.A65927? 



CONTENTS 



Introduction 

I. Matthew Arnold . 
II. William Wordsworth 

Descriptive Bibliography 
Arnold's Essay on Wordsworth 
Selected Poems of Wordsworth 
Poems in Ballad Form 

We are Seven .... 
Lucy Gray ..... 



Star-Gazers .... 

The Reverie of Poor Susan . 

Narrative Poems 

The Leech-Gatherer 

Michael 

Lyrical Poems 

"My Heart Leaps Up" 
To a Butterfly . . . 

Written in March 
To the Daisy .... 
To the Small Celandine 
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" 
To a Skylark .... 
Expostulation and Reply 
The Tables Turned 
To Hartley Coleridge , 
"O Nightingale, Thou Surely Art" 
"Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known' 
"Three Years She Grew" 
"She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways" 
"A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal" . 
"I Traveled Among Unknown Men" 
v 



VI 



CONTENTS 



To the Cuckoo ...... 

To a Skylark ...... 

"She was a Phantom of Delight" . 

The Solitary Reaper ..... 

Yarrow Unvisited ..... 

Yarrow Visited ...... 

Yarrow Revisited ..... 

At the Grave of Burns .... 

Poems Akin to the Antique and Odes 

Laodameia. ...... 

Character of the Happy Warrior 
Ode to Duty . . . 
Ode on Intimations of Immortality 

Sonnets 

"Scorn not the Sonnet" .... 

"Nuns Fret not at Their Convent's Narrow Room 

Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais . 

On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic , 

To Toussaint I'Ouverture .... 

Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzer- 
land ...... 

Written in London, September, 1802 

"The World is Too Much With Us" . 

London, 1802 ..... 

"It is not to be Thought of That the Flood 

To the Men of Kent, October, 1803 

In the Pass of Killicranky 

"England! the Time is Come when Thou Should 'st 
Wean 

November, 1806 . 

Catherine Wordsworth 

Personal Talk 

Personal Talk, continued 

Personal Talk, concluded 

To Sleep . 



CONTENTS VII 



PAGE 

153 
154 



Composed upon the Beach near Calais, 1802 . 

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1803 

"I Watch, and Long have Watched, with Calm Re 

gret" 

"Wansfell! This Household has a Favored Lot" 
After-Thought ...... 

Inside of King's College Chapel 

Inside of King's College Chapel, continued 

Mary, Queen of Scots, Landing at the Mouth of the 

Derwent ....... 

On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford 
"The Pibroch's Note " Discountenanced or Mute 
"^Po^^/— He hath Put his Heart to School" . 
To the Memory of Raisley Calvert 
To Lady Fitzgerald in her Seventieth Year 
"'There!' said a Stripling, Pointing with Meet Pride 
In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth . 
Death 

Reflective and Elegiac Poems 

Influence of Natural Objects. 

Yew-Trees ....... 

Lines, composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey 
French Revolution ..... 

Fragment from The Recluse .... 

The Old Cumberland Beggar 
Animal Tranquillity and Decay 

Nutting 

Stanzas . . . . 

The Fountain ...... 

A Poet's Epitaph 

Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg 

Notes and Comments 

On Arnold's Essay ...... 205 

On the Poems of Wordsworth . .223 

Questions and Topics for Discussion . . 249 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Portrait of Matthew Arnold Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Rydal Mount, facing .... xxxi 

A Sketch of Wordsworth, etc., facing . i 
Lake Windermere, /flang . . . .35 



INTRODUCTION 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 

Matthew Arnold was born December 24th, 1822, 
at Laleham, England, the son of Doctor Thomas 
Arnold, who later became the great headmaster 
of Rugby, celebrated in Tovi Brozvn^s School-Days. 
His mother was Mary Penrose. When the boy was 
five years old, the family left the small town for the 
school which, under his father's leadership, was to 
become one of the foremost in England. From 
Rugby, in 1841, Matthew Arnold went to Oxford, 
and two years later his father died, having lived to 
see Winchester, Rugby, and Balliol College, Oxford, 
mold his son much after his own heart into a scholar, 
a critic, and a growing master of "the Oriel Style." 

If Doctor Arnold thus saw to it that his son was, 
externally, everything that he ought to be, a gentle- 
man and a scholar, it was Mrs. Arnold who quietly 
encouraged her son to be exactly what he was — a 
poet. Arnold's debt to his two parents was equally 
great, and to this fact can be attributed a personal- 
ity of such surprising poise: the critic who could 
create; the poet who could wisely judge; and the 
public official who for thirty-five years occupied a 

ix 



X INTRODUCTION 

position as inspector of schools for Westminster — of 
exacting responsibility and vast importance to the 
country. In each of his three contemporary careers 
Arnold made a lasting name for himself. 

His literary career, begun as poet and ending as 
critic and essayist, contained at first little promise 
and much discouragement. In 1840, as a schoolboy 
he had won a prize at Rugby with his first published 
poem, Alaric at Rome, followed three years later by 
Cromzvelly which won the Newdigate prize at Oxford. 
Of the two, the former suggests more prophetic pos- 
sibilities, but neither seems, to the most discerning 
reader, much beyond the powers of a capable youth 
doing what his family had reason to expect him to 
do. Five years later, after his graduation from Ox- 
ford, Arnold published anonymously in 1849, The 
Strayed Reveller, and Other Poems, hy A. Although 
all of these poems but one have been reprinted in 
later editions of the poet's work and now occupy a 
secure place in English literature, their first appear- 
ance was as a dismal failure. Only a few copies 
were sold, and the volume was presently withdrawn 
from public sale. Quite as unkind fate met a second 
anonymous volume which appeared in 1852, Em- 
pedocles on Etna and Other Poems, by A. The record 
of the next three years is hardly more than that of 
perseverance — and its reward. In 1853 he repub- 
lished the contents of most of the two rejected vol- 
umes, adding a few verses that were new, with his 
own name on the title page and a prefatory essay 



MATTHEW ARNOLD XI 

on his conception of the province of poetry. This 
reissue, wherein appeared Sohrab and Rustum, at- 
tracted, though tardily, much of the attention and 
interest which his poems had originally deserved. 
In 1855 Poems by Matthew Arnold: Second Series , 
appeared, and containing but two new poems, 
Balder Dead and Separation, won the welcome which 
Arnold's reappearances were now certain to expect. 
His popularity as a poet was growing and was 
stamped in a singularly gratifying way when, on 
May 5, 1857, Matthew Arnold was elected to the 
Professorship of Poetry at Oxford. At the age of 
thirty-four, then, he had climbed out of the slough 
of obscurity. For ten years Arnold occupied the 
chair, and during this time, in word and deed, lived 
up to the title of his position, publishing many sep- 
arate poems and finally in 1867 a volume of New 
Poems, besides writing numerous magazine articles, 
criticisms, essays, and lectures on a wide range of 
literary subjects. In 1867, coincident with the close 
of the Oxford professorship, Arnold's poetical career 
came practically to an end. 

All this time, however, his poetical productive- 
ness had been in no sense the result, like Words- 
worth's, of sedentary incubation. In 1844 he grad- 
uated from Oxford with second-class honors, a mild 
disgrace to the name of Arnold which was retrieved 
the following year by his election to a fellowship 
in Oriel College, Oxford. Here he met A. H. Clough, 
a fellow poet who became his friend and whose death 



Xn INTRODUCTION 

in 1861 is the subject of Arnold's exquisite Thyrsis, 
an elegy of college friendship comparable to Lycidas 
or In Memoriam. After winning the fellowship, 
Arnold returned to Rugby to teach classics in the 
fifth form and began that career in public education 
that was to last nearly a half century. A year later, 
in 1847, he was appointed private secretary to Lord 
Lansdowne, and withdrew from Rugby and partici- 
pated in the polite political life of that discreet 
Liberal for four years. In 1 851, Arnold was ap- 
pointed to an inspectorship of schools, a position 
which he occupied for thirty-five years. This posi- 
tion required a vast deal of traveling, of interviewing 
teachers and conducting examinations, of writing 
exhaustive reports, all of which Arnold prepared 
with more of a hearty and patriotic conscience than 
enthusiasm. On the other hand, he was sent by 
the government on tours of investigation into the 
state of education in France, Germany, Holland, and 
other countries, a recognition of his authority on 
the subject of education and a genuine pleasure to 
the urbane cosmopolitan that he was. Arnold was 
as familiar with French and German as with Latin 
and Greek. 

In June of the year in which he became inspector 
of schools, Matthew Arnold was married to Frances 
Lucy Wightman, daughter of Mr. Justice Wight- 
man. "Though I am a schoolmaster's son, I con- 
fess that school-teaching or school-inspecting is not 
the line of life I should naturally have chosen. I 



MATTHEW ARNOLD Xlll 

adopted it in order to marry a lady who is here to- 
night ..." In these very frank words deHvered 
before the Westminster Teacher's Association on 
his retirement from the position in 1886, the poet 
makes a very human confession. Matthew Arnold's 
love for his wife was clearly the dominating motive 
of his life as it is whimsically suggested to be here, 
and he no doubt felt that any shirking of the deadly 
dull means of his livelihood would be a kind of 
treachery to her. This is practical poetry of a 
pretty fine sort. "There must be many," writes 
G. W. E. Russell, Arnold's biographer, "who still 
remember with amused affection his demeanor in an 
elementary school. They see the tall figure, at once 
graceful and stately; the benign air, as of an affable 
archangel; the critical brow and enquiring eyeglass 
bent on some very immature performance in pen- 
manship or needlework; and the frightened children 
and the anxious teacher, gradually lapsing into 
smiles and peace, as the great man tested the pro- 
ficiency in some such humble art as spelling. 'Well, 
my little man, and how do you spell dog?^ * Please 
sir, d-o-g' 'Capital, very good indeed. I couldn't 
do it better myself. And now let us go a little 
further, and see if we can spell cat.' (Chorus ex- 
citedly) ^C-A-TT 'Now, this is really excellent. 
(To the teacher) You have brought them on won- 
derfully in spelling since I was here last!'" A friend 
has written: "His effect on the teachers when he 
examined a school was extraordinary. He was 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

sympathetic without being condescending, and he 
reconciled the humblest drudge in a London school 
to his or her drudgery for the next twelve months." 

A version of what others thought of Arnold comes 
in the remark of Lord Salisbury's, that when he 
conferred the degree of D. C. L. on him (at Oxford 
in 1870) he ought to have addressed him as vir 
dulcissime et lucidissime^ a. happy reference to the 
"sweetness and light" which Arnold had so effec- 
tively preached. In 1883 recognition came from the 
crown in a pension of £250 conferred for the literary 
merit of his work. 

In the same year Arnold came on a lecture tour 
to America to talk to American audiences, among 
other things, about Emerson. The result of this 
was a volume of essays. Discourses in America, which 
contain some of his shrewdest and cleverest com- 
ment, and the volume of his writings by which he 
said that he most desired to be remembered. It 
was here also that Arnold ran afoul of P. T. Barnum. 
"You, Mr. Arnold, are a celebrity, I am a notoriety," 
the irrepressible showman wrote. "We ought to be 
acquainted." "I couldn't go," Matthew Arnold 
commented in telling of the invitation afterwards, 
"but it was very nice of him." 

Matthew Arnold died very suddenly in Liverpool, 
of heart failure, April 15, 1888. He had come to the 
seaport with his wife to meet his elder daughter 
who was on her way home from the United States, 
and the violent exercise of running for a tramcar 



MATTHEW ARNOLD XV 

caused the abrupt collapse from which he died al- 
most instantly. 

Of Arnold's definite place in literature as a poet 
and as a prose writer, little has been indicated in 
this rapid survey of his career. Enough has perhaps 
been said to indicate, however, that Arnold is a 
poet for the chastened tastes of educated persons 
rather than for the masses. Popularity, by the 
definition of the word, his work can never attain, 
and yet the reason for this lies far less in the need 
for information on the reader's part than it does 
in the poet's own preference for ideas and words 
over story, action, or the music of his verses. Beauti- 
ful lines abound in his work such as "The unplumb'd 
salt, estranging sea," and occasionally passages of 
such passionate power as the RequiescaU beginning 



and ending 



Strew on her roses, roses, 
And never a spray of yew! 



Her cabin'd, ample spirit, 

It flutter'd and fail'd for breath. 

To-night it doth inherit 

The vasty hall of death. 



Yet there was something either in Arnold's ven- 
eration for the classic restraint of the Greeks, or his 
admiration for Wordsworth, his great teacher, which 
unconsciously restrained him from following to the 
full length the counsel of Milton (from whom other- 
wise Arnold learned much) that poetry must be 



XVI INTRODUCTION 

simple, sensuous, and passionate. Arnold finds place 
comfortably among the Victorian poets of his day — 
Tennyson, Browning, Rossetti, William Morris, and 
Swinburne in that quest of the beautiful not known 
to this day and generation. In this he and they 
resembled their predecessors — ^Wordsworth, Cole- 
ridge, Keats, Shelley, Byron — but as one critic ob- 
serves, in each group there is a division between the 
seekers for physical and those for moral beauty. 
Among the latter, certainly, lie Matthew Arnold 
and Wordsworth. 

What many might regard as the defect in Arnold's 
poetry, every reader must credit to his prose. If 
Rossetti can be accused of painting his sonnets and 
writing his pictures, it can be said that Arnold wrote 
much of his poetry in prose. To his prose, however, 
he applied only the fine skill of a literary craftsman, 
and there is in it little suggestion of the poetic prose 
which is so offensive. In spirit, however, there lies 
over it the weight of the classic tradition. This can 
be paraphrased in one writer's allusion to "Matthew 
Arnold's belief in the preference of the Almighty for 
University men." And in comparing Arnold with 
two other contemporary prose writers, Mr. G. K. 
Chesterton produces, with some exaggeration, a 
beguiling picture: "If Nevs^man seemed suddenly 
to fly into a temper, Carlyle seemed never to fly 
out of one. But Arnold kept a smile of heart-broken 
forbearance, as of the teacher in an idiot school, that 
was enormously insulting." Keen of wit and severe 



MATTHEW ARNOLD XVll 

in judgment, Arnold in all his criticisms preserves 
his temper. This was, in truth, his innovation into 
the art of criticism — urbanity. When one recalls the 
literary squabbles of Grub Street, one perceives the 
distance from them of the smooth though often de- 
vastating judgment of Matthew Arnold and of 
Walter Pater. With it all, however, Arnold's aim 
was clearness. 

His favorite tools were epigrams, epithets, or the 
scrupulously chosen word. Arnold's assertion that 
"poetry is a criticism of life," is an oft quoted ex- 
ample from the essay on Wordsworth. Like it, 
too, is the whimsical picture of the social science 
congress, which explains quite clearly why much 
philosophical poetry is not poetry at all. "Sweet- 
ness and light" is a phrase of Swift's which Arnold 
popularized with his own meaning of "intellectual 
enlightenment." "Philistine," meaning a rather 
self-satisfied member of the middle class, he brought 
over from the German "Philister," to wage war 
on the middle-class complacency which he so 
thoroughly hated. The list of words which have 
been added by Matthew Arnold as weapons to the 
critical armory of English-speaking peoples could be 
multiplied at length. They can, however, be fittingly 
concluded with his brave definition of that much 
abused word, "culture," which to him had a fine, 
fresh significance. This is, he says, "a pursuit of 
our total perfection by means of getting to know, 
on all matters which most concern us, the best which 



XVlll INTRODUCTION 

has been thought and said in the world." No more 
fitting example of this sort of culture can be found 
than Matthew Arnold himself, who is, next to Mil- 
ton, the most scholarly poet in the English language. 

II 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

Birth. William Wordsworth was born in the 
little town of Cockermouth, Cumberland, on April 
7th, 1770. For over half a century he lived in Gras- 
mere vale, in the heart of his chosen Lake Country, 
with his wife and his sister Dorothy, and died at the 
age of eighty not twenty-five miles from his birth- 
place. Something like this is the common impres- 
sion of Wordsworth. It is all mathematically correct, 
but insufficient. To this Lord Morley would add 
the brief that the years 1 770-1 850 were vastly im- 
portant ones to England, France, and Europe gen- 
erally, and that "during all the tumult of the great 
war which for so many years bathed Europe in fire, 
through all the throes and agitations in which peace 
brought forth the new time, Wordsworth for half a 
century dwelt sequestered in unbroken composure 
and steadfastness amid the mountains and lakes of 
his native region, working out his own ideal of the 
poet's high office." This also is true, and I cannot 
think that the writer meant to imply that Words- 
worth was not well occupied. With Lord Morley, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XIX 

however, one is bound to wonder, considering the 
times, the really passionate man that he was, and 
the powerful character of much of his work, — how 
Wordsworth could have kept still. The restraint 
which allows expression only in mental activity 
rather than in physical was Wordsworth's way. It 
was a lesson which, like Matthew Arnold in the 
following well-known lines, he had learned from 
Nature: 

Of toil unsever'd from tranquillity! 
Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows 
Far noisier schemes, accompHshed in repose. 
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry. 

And Wordsworth in his lifetime wrote approximately 
one thousand poems that have been published. 

Character and Appearance. It may be re- 
garded as a significant fact, too, that in Wordsworth's 
poetry the words solitary and solitude, according to 
the new Concordance, occur over two hundred 
times. Matthew Arnold, in his essay, moreover, 
applies to Wordsworth's poetry the adjective "aus- 
tere," and in reading a life of the man himself, one 
cannot help feeling, even amidst the irrepressible 
gaiety of Charles Lamb and his friends at the *' im- 
mortal dinner," that Wordsworth was a lonely man. 
The truth of the matter is that practically single- 
handed he was fighting a long campaign of his own, 
and that, in the beginning at least, the loneliness 
was not wholly voluntary. Quite unknown at first, 
then gradually conspicuous as an object for ridicule, 



XX INTRODUCTION 

during eighteen years of poverty he had to battle to 
establish certain poetic principles which are com- 
monplaces to-day. Through it all there was his re- 
markable sister Dorothy, then his young wife, and 
Coleridge — and that was about all. It was a small 
garrison and one typical of a pioneer household. 
But Wordsworth was a strong man, who seems to 
have been little troubled with the disease of doubt 
or discouragement. 

His one great purpose was to emancipate poetry 
from its prevalent tone of artificiality, from the 
fashions of the school of Pope and his successors 
(Doctor Johnson and Gray conspicuously). "This 
hubbub of words'* Wordsworth called it. His weapon 
from the start was double barreled: first, poems 
of his own of a simple and homely nature; second, 
a powerful series of prefaces and explanatory essays 
which still count as literary law. It was an uphill 
fight. Jeered at and parodied during all the earlier 
years when the young craftsman most needs en- 
couragement from older men in the same profession, 
he got little or none. At length recognition did come, 
then growing popularity and fame, and as a final 
accolade the laureateship for the last seven years of 
his life. The independence of the poet as a young 
man in the face of opposition had, however, developed 
into serene indifference to praise or blame alike. 

Now, although glimpses of the poet as a young 
man occur in the Journals of his sister Dorothy, 
by far the most graphic description we have is of 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXI 

the great and aged Wordsworth by Carlyle in his 
Reminiscences. It is incidentally a curious fact that 
the likenesses of writers most commonly associated 
with their works are usually their latest or last 
portraits — craters after the volcanoes are extinct. 
Be that as it may, this is how Carlyle saw Words- 
worth at breakfast with Henry Taylor and others 
in London in 1840. The company, as might have 
been expected, was discussing literature and its 
various phases and problems. "He talked well in 
his way; with veracity, easy brevity, and force; as 
a wise tradesman would of his tools and workshop, 
and as no unwise one could. His voice was good, 
frank, and sonorous, though practically clear, dis- 
tinct, and forcible, rather than melodious; the tone 
of him business-like, sedately confident, no dis- 
courtesy, yet no anxiety about being courteous; a 
fine wholesome rusticity, fresh as his mountain 
breezes, sat well on the stalwart veteran, and on all 
he said and did. . . . His face bore marks of much, 
not always peaceful meditation; the look of it not 
bland or benevolent, so much as close, impregnable, 
and hard. . . . The eyes were not very brilliant, 
but they had a quiet clearness; there was enough of 
brow, and well shaped; rather too much of cheek 
(* horse-face' I have heard satirists say), face of 
squarish shape and decidedly longish. . . . He 
was large-boned, lean, but still firm-knit, tall, and 
strong-looking when he stood ; a right good old steel- 
gray figure." 



XXll INTRODUCTION 

Carlyle remarks also at this time: "During the 
last seven or ten years of his life, Wordsworth felt 
himself to be a recognized lion, in certain consider- 
able London circles. . . . He took his bit of lionism 
very quietly, with a smile sardonic rather than 
triumphant; and certainly got no harm by it, if he 
got or expected little good. ... 'If you think me 
dull, be it just so! ' " Then follows this sly glimpse, 
a masterpiece of restrained and subtle suggestion: 
*'In one of these Wordsworthian lion-dinners, . . . 
I sat a long way from Wordsworth; dessert, I think, 
had come in; and certainly there reigned in all quar- 
ters a cackle as of Babel (only politer, perhaps), — 
which far up in Wordsworth's quarter (who was 
leftward on my side of the table), seemed to have 
taken a sententious, rather louder, logical, and 
quasi-scientific turn, — heartily unimportant to gods 
and men, so far as I could judge of it and of the other 
babble reigning. I looked upwards, leftwards, the 
coast being luckily for the moment clear; there, far 
off, beautifully screened in the shadow of his vertical 
green shade . . . sat Wordsworth, silent, in rock- 
like indifference, slowly but steadily gnawing some 
portion of what I judged to be raisins, with his eye 
and attention fixed on these and these alone. The 
sight of whom, and of his rock-like indifference to 
the babble, quasi-scientific and other, with attention 
turned on the small practical alone, was comfortable 
and amusing to me, who felt like him, but could not 
eat raisins. This little glimpse I could still paint, 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXlll 

SO clear and bright is it, and this shall be symbolical 
of all/' 

Any life of William Wordsworth, any account of 
the man in the making, offers little enticement to 
the general reader. It is a record mainly of psycho- 
logical change and progress and is quite devoid of 
physical adventure and enterprise — except for his 
numerous walking tours, and on these De Quincey, 
diligent by spasms, once computed that he had 
walked upwards of 175,000 miles. The simple career 
is rather surprising, however, when one looks at its 
proportions: twenty-eight years of preparation; ten 
years of achievement; and forty-two years of little 
or nothing of importance, although during this time 
Wordsworth was diligently at work, and eventually 
began to harvest the results of his earlier sowing. 
The periods are 1770-1798; 1798-1808; 1808-1850. 

First Period, 1770-1798. The quality of self- 
reliance so characteristic of Wordsworth in later life 
was early forced on him through circumstance. His 
father was an attorney and agent for the first Earl 
of Lonsdale. Wordsworth's mother, whose maiden 
name was Anne Cookson, died in 1778. "My 
father," Wordsworth has written, "never recovered 
his usual cheerfulness of mind after this loss, and 
died when I was in my fourteenth year, a school 
boy, just returned from Hawkshead, whither I had 
been sent with my elder brother Richard, in my 
ninth year." Lonely but not morbidly so, the boy 
was thus driven back upon himself for his own 



XXIV INTRODUCTION 

amusement, and thus found at an early age that 
source of solace which became his lifelong delight 
— Nature, and Mankind viewed through the eyes, 
we might almost say, of a naturalist. Wordsworth in- 
deed has much in common with Thoreau. 

Wordsworth's career at St. John's College, Cam- 
bridge, which he entered in October, 1787, and from 
which he received his B. A. degree in January, 1791, 
was without incidents, unless, as Lowell says, "they 
were of that interior kind which rarely appear in 
biography, though they may be of controlling influ- 
ence upon the life." The fact is that Cambridge 
at this time was languishing in a period of intellectual 
stagnation; and the principal gift which Wordsworth 
carried away was an abiding impression of the beauty 
of the place. Of this the sonnet on Kings College 
Chapel supremely testifies. In the summer of 1790 
he took a foot journey with a college friend, from 
Calais down through France and to Switzerland. 
The results of this venture were among the most 
significant in Wordsworth's life. Not only was he 
stirred with the grandeur of the Alps, but, in France 
he met numbers of the revolutionists, who aroused 
in the young Englishman a sympathy and partisan- 
ship for their cause. In members of the revolutionary 
party Wordsworth seemed to see peasants not so 
very unlike his own Westmoreland farmers, or 
"statesmen" as they are called, sternly asserting 
themselves against an overbearing and frivolous 
aristocracy. This was simple Man rising triumphant 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXV 

over Convention. As late as October, 1792, Words- 
worth was in Paris preparing to join forces with the 
Girondists, and only the good judgment of his rela- 
tives, who commanded him home, saved him from 
certain death in the massacres of '93. The excesses 
of the revolutionists in their hour of success, Eng- 
land's declaration of war on the new French Re- 
public, and the egotistic tyranny of Napoleon were 
all tremendously difficult results to reconcile with 
the rather innocent beginning, and it nearly cost 
Wordsworth his reason. Eventually the explanation 
of it all came, with the help of his sister Dorothy, 
in discovering that Nature with her often cruel and 
unjust methods, was the underlying harmony. 

One can see from this, perhaps, how wide of the 
mark is any attempt to associate Wordsworth with 
Browning's hero of the Lost Leader, who "just for 
a handful of silver" left the liberal cause, **just for 
a riband to stick in his coat," for which, if it had 
been the laureateship, he would have had to wait 
just fifty years. Now, however, he was settled at 
Racedown Cottage with his sister Dorothy, and 
had perhaps beaten out his vexation and despair 
in the Borderers, a drama in five acts of blank verse, 
which was rejected by the manager of Covent Gar- 
den Theater. 

Second Period, i 798-1 808. The period of Words- 
worth's life which followed is that single decade in 
which, as Arnold points out, all of Wordsworth's 
really first-rate work was produced. It was a time 



XXVI INTRODUCTION 

principally of work, and to but slight degree of per- 
sonal development. In this time, to be sure, came 
Wordsworth's friendship with Coleridge (June, 
1795), his marriage to his cousin Mary Hutchinson 
(October, 1802), and the birth of his five children, 
but these are events which happen to mature mor- 
tals and do not assist particularly in the shaping of 
their characters. 

Much has been said by persons who knew her, of 
the vivacity and mercurial charm of Dorothy Words- 
worth, and no words have been so often quoted as 
Coleridge's early impression of her: ''Wordsworth 
and his exquisite sister are with me. She is a woman 
indeed! in mind and heart; for her person is such 
that if you expected to see a pretty woman, you 
would think her rather ordinary; if you expected 
to see an ordinary woman, you would think her 
pretty! but her manners are simple, ardent, im- 
pressive. . . . Her eye watchful in minutest ob- 
servation of nature; and her taste a perfect electrom- 
eter." Of Coleridge, Wordsworth's other close 
companion at this time, the story of their joint plan 
to defray the cost of a foot journey with Dorothy 
along the Quantock Hills by composing a pbem, 
afterwards Coleridge's Ancient Mariner, is emi- 
nently characteristic. Practically the only part in 
the work, however, which Wordsworth would admit 
as his own were the four lines 

And listened like a three years child 
The Mariner had his will. 



f 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXVll 

And thou art long and lank and brown. 
As is the ribbed sea-sand. 



Mrs. Wordsworth, with her personal charm, wit, 
and tact, was a worthy fourth to this fastidious and 
idealistic group. Most can be said in fewest words, 
perhaps, by noting that the two finest lines in the 
Daffodils are hers: 

They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude. 

If in eight years of daily associations with the three 
persons of his choice and in the places where he 
was happiest, Wordsworth did his best work and all 
of his best work, the explanation simply is that he 
wrote himself out, scaling at once all the peaks of 
achievement which would more naturally be inter- 
spersed throughout his lifetime. 

His Creed. It was in the preface to the second 
edition of Lyrical Ballads (1800), which he and Cole- 
ridge had first brought out in September, 1798, that 
Wordsworth wrote his famous declaration on poetic 
diction. This statement of creed, enlarged and 
amplified in 1802 and in 1815, met with immediate 
and universal hostility, and the illustrative poems 
of the volume have been ridiculed and parodied for 
years. The fact nevertheless remains that among 
these poems were Coleridge's Ancient Mariner and 
Wordsworth's Lines Above Tintern Abbey, We are 
Seven, Lines Written in Early Spring, and The Old 
Cumberland Beggar, among the best things that 



XXVlll INTRODUCTION 

Wordsworth ever wrote. Still, the volume did con- 
tain An Anecdote for Fathers, Goody Blake and Harry 
Gill, The Idiot Boy, and Peter Bell. In many cases, 
the truth is, Wordsworth preached better than he 
practiced. Wordsworth's explanation of his position, 
in the preface, is that he has written of rural scenes 
and characters in an exceedingly simple style in the 
hope that his pictures might seem absolutely true 
to life, his characters genuinely alive, and his 
whole work interesting because, not only accurate, 
but also a reflection of the workings of the pri- 
mary laws of nature. His aim, in short, was to be 
natural. 

Humble and rustic life, he says, was chosen as his 
subject for the following reasons: (i) The essential 
passions of man are naturally more vigorous in the 
country and are there really more highly developed. 
(2) There, accordingly, they are better understood 
and appreciated. (3) In the country, too, these 
emotions and feelings can be observed unmixed and 
uninfluenced by artificial influences. (4) It follows, 
also, that the language of country people is plainer, 
more descriptive, and less influenced by the changes 
of time and fashion. (5) For the foregoing reasons 
and because of their close communion with the 
beauty and the truths of nature, country people are 
really finer in their manners. (6) "There neither 
is, nor can be, any essential diff'erence between the 
language of prose and metrical composition." The 
last statement is Wordsworth's most important 



I 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXIX 



dictum, and the ground on which long and bitter 
literary warfare has been waged. 

With some of these contentions the reader will 
very likely disagree, simply because they are not 
so. The main idea, however, that natural nobility 
is found more readily in the country than in the 
city is one that has long appealed to English poets; 
and echoes of it can readily be found in Shakespeare, 
Milton, Goldsmith, Gray, Cowper, and Burns. 
Wordsworth's appeal resembles that of Milton for 
courtesy in his Comus: 

. . . .courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, 
With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was named. 

The truth of Wordsworth's final contention — that 
the language of poetry is in no way different from the 
language of prose — can be demonstrated by turning 
to the poems of some of the latest figures in the 
literary world to-day, to the subtly simple work of 
our own Robert Frost and Edwin Arlington Robin- 
son. By ''language," I take it, Wordsworth meant 
that the finest poetry should echo the ring of con- 
versation, rather than be music in itself. With what 
measure of success he met we can discover by reading 
We are Seven^ The Leech Gatherer, or Michael. From 
this early and rigid position Wordsworth himself 
indeed departed somewhat in his later work; and 
of this the rich organ tones of the Ode to Duty are 
a good example. 



XXX INTRODUCTION 

The serious danger in Wordsworth's cultivation 
of humble and rustic life is in knowing quite what 
is natural; for this word, like "simple," has two 
senses. It means ''genuine," or it means "silly." 
And Wordsworth's taste, as Arnold hints, was not 
always infallible. Of this no better brief criticism 
exists, I believe, than the clever parody of two of 
Wordsworth's own sonnets by James K. Stephen: 

Two voices are there: one is of the deep; 

It learns the storm clouds thunderous melody, 

Now roars, now murmurs, with the changing sea, 

Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep: 

And one is of an old half-witted sheep, 

Which bleats articulate monotony, 

And indicates that two and one are three. 

That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep; 

And, Wordsworth, both are thine at certain times, 

Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes 

The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst: 

At other times — good Lord! I'd rather be 

Quite unacquainted with the A. B. C. 

Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst. 

Third Period, i 808-1 850. In 1808 Wordsworth's 
growing family, now consisting of four children be- 
sides Mrs. Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, out- 
grew little Dove Cottage in Grasmere, and so they 
moved to Allan Bank across the lake. The end of 
the intimacy between Wordsworth and Coleridge 
came in the autumn, and ended, as it has been said, 
the creative season of both poets, although Cole- 
ridge, indeed, had written little poetry for the ten 



i ^ 




WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXXI 

years past. Coleridge was at that time leaving 
Grasmere; and Wordsworth, believing that he was 
planning to stay with a certain Mr. Montagu in 
London, warned him of Coleridge's propensity to 
gin and opium. Wordsworth, it is clear, had Cole- 
ridge's interests as well as Mr. Montagu's at heart, 
but the latter's wholly uncalled-for and somewhat 
elaborated repetition of it to Coleridge had an ugly 
sound to his extremely sensitive ears. Although 
two years later Wordsworth had the opportunity of 
disclaiming any malice and the two were reconciled, 
the old intimacy was never quite restored. 

The year 1813 marks the beginning of Words- 
worth's long and peaceful residence of nearly forty 
years at Rydal Mount, which ended only with the 
poet's death. During this time Wordsworth was 
occupied mainly in piling up that poetical baggage 
of which Arnold, in his edition of the poems, pro- 
posed to relieve him. The two personalities in 
Wordsworth alluded to in Mr. Stephen's parody 
had both been diligent for years, the inspired and 
the uninspired working side by side; but now the 
artist abruptly makes off, and the artisan settles 
down comfortably for steady employment. There 
is no mystery about it. Wordsworth had simply 
said what he had had to say; and had he been less 
industrious by nature, he would have rested on his 
already abundant laurels. 

With the growing salability of his writings, Words- 
worth's financial difficulties were Hearing an end. 



XXXll INTRODUCTION 

His appointment in 1813 to the nearly sinecure] 
position of distributor of stamps for the county of] 
Westmoreland and later also for Cumberland, how- I 
ever, settled the matter. When in 1842 he resigned j 
the post, to be succeeded by his son, Wordsworth j 
was granted an annuity of £300 from the Civil List 
for distinguished work in the field of literature. 

Honors followed success, with the honorary de- j 
grees of D. C. L. from Durham in 1838, and from i 
Oxford in 1839. In 1843, on the death of his friend i 
Southey, the former poet laureate, Wordsworth i 
was tendered that office by Sir Robert Peel. Only 1 
after earnest insistence and the promise that "you 
shall have nothing required from you'* was the vener- 
able poet prevailed upon to accept for the last seven 
years of his life the poetic crown which he had so ; 
deservedly earned. 

The small circle of the poet's closest friends and ; 
family had been gradually reduced by death until 
now there was left only Mrs. Wordsworth and their ! 
eldest and youngest sons. In 1834, "every mortal j 
power of Coleridge was frozen at its marvelous * 
source." Dorothy Wordsworth's long and distress- ! 
ing illness, which robbed her of her health and mind, ; 
began in 1832. The death of his friend Southey in 
1843 was to Wordsworth a loss far greater than the j 
indirect honor which was the outcome of it. But j 
the most crushing blow of all was the death in 1847 I 
of his daughter Dorothy, or Dora, who, although ; 
she had married Edward Quillinan, a neighbor and \ 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH XXXlll 

friend of the Wordsworths, had long taken at her 
father's side as nearly as possible the place left by 
his sister Dorothy. From this tragedy Wordsworth 
never really recovered. On Tuesday, April 23, 1850, 
as it has frequently been written, just as his favorite 
cuckoo clock was striking twelve, he died. Accord- 
ing to his wishes, his body was buried in the church- 
yard at Grasmere. In Westminster Abbey, how- 
ever, a life-sized marble statue was set up in his 
memory. 

That with Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton, 
Wordsworth is forever to rank among the foremost 
English poets there now seems to be little doubt. 
And the manly words of James Russell Lowell, 
whose keen wit relished to the full all of Wordsworth's 
many foibles, can best stand as the final definition 
of Wordsworth and his place in the language of 
English-speaking peoples: "Of no other poet except 
Shakespeare have so many phrases become house- 
hold words as of Wordsworth. . . . He has won for 
himself a secure immortality by a depth of intuition 
which makes only the best minds at their best hours 
worthy, or indeed capable, of his companionship, 
and by a homely sincerity of human sympathy 
which reaches the humblest heart. Our language 
owes him gratitude for the habitual purity and 
abstinence of his style, and we who speak it, for 
having emboldened us to take delight in simple 
things, and to trust ourselves to our own instincts." 



DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY 

A revision of a bibliography originally prepared by 
Professor Walter S. Hinchman 

ARNOLD'S WORKS 

1840. Alaric at Rome. 

Prize poem at Rugby School. 
1843. Cromwell. 

Newdigate prize poem at Oxford. 
1849. The Strayed Reveller and Other Poems, by A. 

1852. Empedocles on Etna and Other Poems, by A. 

1853. Poems by Matthew Arnold, a New Edition. 

This volume contains not only much of his best work, but 
also his famous preface on poetry. 
1855. Poems: Second Series. 
Mostly reprints. 

1858. Metope. 

A drama in verse. 

1867. New Poems. 
Contains Thyrsis. 

1885. Poems. 
This edition, in three vols., contains all of Arnold's poetry. 

1859. England and the Italian Question. 
1 86 1, 1862. On Translating Homer. 

Four lectures. First collected in one volume in 1896. 
1861. Popular Education of France. \ (VA ' I 

1864. A French Eton. ^ 

1868. Schools and Universities on the Continent. 

1865. Essays in Criticism. 
1867. On the Study of Celtic Literature. 



j books.) 



DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY XXXV 

1869. Culture and Anarchy. 

This appeared first as essays in the Cornhill Magazine. 
1 87 1. Friendship' s Garland. 
This, with Culture and Anarchy^ attacked "PhiHstine" society. 

1870. St. Paul and Protestantism. 
1873. Literature and Dogma: an essay 

toward a better apprehension 
of the Bible. (All dealing with 

1875. God and the Bible: a review of \ the theology of 
objections to Literature and Arnold's day.) 
Dogma. 
1877. Last Essays on Church and Re 

ligion. 

1878-83. Critical and editorial work — notably essays on Words- 
worth and Byron and Introduction to Ward's English 
Poets. 
1879. Mixed Essays. 

Political and literary. 
1882. Irish Essays and Others. 

Including, besides papers on Irish political subjects, a Speech 
at Eton, an essay on Copyright, and a reprint of the 1853 pre- 
face on poetry. 
1885. Discourses in America. 

Delivered in 1883-84. 
1888. Civilization in the United States. 

Reprinted from magazine articles. 
1888. Essays in Criticism, Second Series. 

Reprints of essays on literary subjects. To them has been 
added the essay on Milton, published in May, 1888. This 
volume contains Arnold's best prose work. 

1895. Letters of Matthew Arnold, 1848-1888. (Collected and 
edited by G. W. E. Russell.) 



XXXVl DESCRIPTIVE BIBLIOGRAPHY 



BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM 

T. B. Smart: Bibliography of Matthew Arnold, London, 1892. 
Richard Garnett: Life of Arnold, in the Dictionary of National 

Biography. 
Theodore Watts-Dunton and Sir J. G. Fitch: Article on Arnold, 

in the Encyclopedia Britannica. 
J. M. Robertson: Modern Humanists, second edition, London, 

1895. 
Herbert Paul: Life of Arnold, in the English Men of Letters 

Series, London and New York, 1903. 
G. W. E. Russell: Matthew Arnold, in Literary Lives, London, 

1904. 
R. H. Hutton: The Poetry of Arnold, in Literary Essays, Lon- 
don, 1892. 
Augustine Birrell: Chapter on Arnold, in Res Judicatae, New 

York, 1892. 
W. H. Hudson: Matthew Arnold in Studies in Interpretation, 

New York, 1896. 
L. E. Gates: Introduction to Selections from the Prose Writings of 

Matthew Arnold, New York, 1897. 
G. E. B. Saintsbury: Matthew Arnold in Modern English Writers, 

New York, 1899. 
W. H. Dawson: Matthew Arnold and his Relation to the Thought 

of our Time, New York, 1904. 
Sir J. G. Fitch: Thomas and Matthew Arnold, New York, 1897. 

Books and Essays Concerning Wordsworth 

Of the very considerable number of books and 
articles on Wordsworth the following are sure to be 
found especially useful: The preface by Andrew J. 
George to Wordsworth's Complete Poetical Works 
(Houghton Mifflin); Wordsworth, How to Know 



BOOKS AND ESSAYS CONCERNING WORDSWORTH XXXVll 

Hi7n by Professor C. T. Winchester (Bobbs Mer- 
rill); Wordsworth by F. W. H. Myers in the English 
Men of Letters Series (Macmillan); Wordsworth in 
Literary Essays, Vol. IV, by James Russell Lowell 
(Houghton Mifflin); the most admirable introduc- 
tion by Lord Morley to The Complete Poetical 
Works of William Wordsworth (Crowell); the article 
on Wordsworth in the Encyclopedia Britannica; 
Life of William Wordsworth, three volumes, by 
William Knight (Wm. Paterson, Edinburgh). These 
the present editor has made use of. 

In addition are the following, in no way inferior 
to the preceding but not directly employed in pre- 
paring this edition: William Wordsworth, two 
volumes, by G. M. Harper (Scribner's); Memoirs of 
Wordsworth by his nephew. Bishop Christopher 
Wordsworth; De Quincey, Works, vols. II and V; 
Miscellanies by Algernon Charles Swinburne; Mat- 
thew Arnold by F. W. H. Myers; Wordsworth's 
Ethics in Hours in a Library, Vol. Ill, by Sir Leslie 
Stephen; Wordsworth by Sir Walter Raleigh; Age of 
Wordsworth by C. H. Herford; Appreciations by 
Walter Pater; Wordsworth in Lives of Great Writers 
by W. S. Hinchman. 




!_ '^-^yw r^ 



^^-^--IJ-^WX/-'^'-^ 



Wordsworth 

From a sketch from life by Alfred Croquis in Fraser's Magazine. 



ARNOLD'S ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

1. I REMEMBER hearing Lord Macaulay say, 
after Wordsworth's death, when subscriptions 
were being collected to found a memorial of him, 
that ten years earlier more money could have been 
raised in Cambridge alone, to do honor to Words- 5 
worth, than was now raised all through the coun- 
try. Lord Macaulay had, as we know, his own 
heightened and telling way of putting things, and 
we must always make allowance for it. But prob- 
ably it is true that Wordsworth has never, either 10 
before or since, been so accepted and popular, so 
established in possession of the minds of all who 
profess to care for poetry, as he was between the 
years 1830 and 1840, and at Cambridge. From 
the very first, no doubt, he had his believers and 15 
witnesses. But I have myself heard him declare 
that, for he knew not how many years, his poetry 
had never brought him in enough to buy his shoe- 
strings. The poetry-reading public was very 
slow to recognize him, and was very easily drawn 20 
away from him. Scott effaced him with this 
public, Byron effaced him. 

2. The death of Byron seemed, however, to 
make an opening for Wordsworth. Scott, who 
had for some time ceased to produce poetry him- 25 
self, and stood before the public as a great novelist; 



2 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

Scott, too genuine himself not to feel the pro- 
found genuineness of Wordsworth, and with an 
instinctive recognition of his firm hold on na- 
ture and of his local truth, always admired him 
5 sincerely, and praised him generously. The in- 
fluence of Coleridge upon young men of ability 
was then powerful, and was still gathering 
strength; this influence told entirely in favor of 
Wordsworth's poetry. Cambridge was a place 

lo where Coleridge's influence had great action, and 
where Wordsworth's poetry, therefore flourished 
especially. But even amongst the general public 
its sale grew large, the eminence of its author was 
widely recognized, and Rydal Mount became an 

15 object of pilgrimage. I remember Wordsworth 
relating how one of the pilgrims, a clergyman, 
asked him if he had ever written anything be- 
sides the Guide to the Lakes. Yes, he answered 
modestly, he had written verses. Not every pil- 

20 grim was a reader, but the vogue was estab- 
lished, and the stream of pilgrims came. 

3. Mr. Tennyson's decisive appearance dates 
from 1842. One cannot say that he efi^aced Words- 
worth as Scott and Byron had eff^aced him. The 

25 poetry of Wordsworth had been so long before 
the public, the sufl^rage of good judges was so 
steady and so strong in its favor, that by 1842 
the verdict of posterity, one may almost say, had 
been already pronounced, and Wordsworth's 

30 English fame was secure. But the vogue, the 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 3 

ear and applause of the great body of poetry- 
readers, never quite thoroughly perhaps his, he 
gradually lost more and more, and Mr. Tennyson 
gained them. Mr. Tennyson drew to himself, and 
away from Wordsworth, the poetry-reading pub- s 
lie, and the new generations. Even in 1850, when 
Wordsworth died, this diminution of popularity 
was visible, and occasioned the remark of Lord 
Macaulay which I quoted at starting. 

4. The diminution has continued. The influence lo 
of Coleridge has waned, and Wordsworth's poetry 
can no longer draw succor from this ally. The 
poetry has not, however, wanted eulogists; and 

it may be said to have brought its eulogists luck, 
for almost every one who has praised Words- 15 
worth's poetry has praised it well. But the public 
has remained cold, or, at least, undetermined. 
Even the abundance of Mr. Palgrave's fine and 
skilfully chosen specimens of Wordsworth, in the 
Golden Treasury, surprised many readers, and 20 
gave offence to not a few. To tenth-rate critics 
and compilers, for whom any violent shock to the 
public taste would be a temerity not to be risked, 
it is still quite permissible to speak of Words- 
worth's poetry, not only with ignorance, but with 25 
impertinence. On the Continent he is almost un- 
known. 

5. I cannot think, then, that Wordsworth has, 
up to this time, at all obtained his deserts. 

** Glory," said M. Renan the other day, "glory 30 



4 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

after all is the thing which has the best chance 
of not being altogether vanity/* Wordsworth was 
a homely man, and himself would certainly never 
have thought of talking of glory as that which, 

5 after all, has the best chance of not being alto- 
gether vanity. Yet we may well allow that few 
things are less vain than real glory. Let us con- 
ceive of the whole group of civilized nations as 
being, for intellectual and spiritual purposes, one 

lo great confederation, bound to a joint action and 
working towards a common result; a confedera- 
tion whose members have a due knowledge both 
of the past, out of which they all proceed, and of 
one another. This was the ideal of Goethe, and 

15 it is an ideal which will impose itself upon the 
thoughts of our modern societies more and more. 
Then to be recognized by the verdict of such a 
confederation as a master, or even as a seriously 
and eminently worthy workman, in one's own line 

20 of intellectual or spiritual activity, is indeed glory; 
a glory which it would be difficult to rate too 
highly. For what could be more beneficent, more 
salutary? The world is forwarded by having its 
attention fixed on the best things; and here is a 

25 tribunal, free from all suspicion of national and 
provincial partiality, putting a stamp on the best 
things, and recommending them for general honor 
and acceptance. A nation, again, is furthered by 
recognition of its real gifts and successes; it is en- 

30 couraged to develop them further. And here is an 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 5 

honest verdict, telling us which of our supposed 
successes are really, in the judgment of the great 
impartial world, and not in our own private judg- 
ment only, successes, and which are not. 

6. It is so easy to feel pride and satisfaction 5 
in one's own things, so hard to make sure that 
one is right in feeling it! We have a great empire. 
But so had Nebuchadnezzar. We extol the "un- 
rivalled happiness" of our national civilization. 
But then comes a candid friend, and remarks that 10 
our upper class is materialized, our middle class 
vulgarized, and our lower class brutalized. We 
are proud of our painting, our music. But we find 
that in the judgment of other people our painting 

is questionable, and our music non-existent. We 15 
are proud of our men of science. And here it 
turns out that the world is with us; we find that 
in the judgment of other people, too, Newton 
among the dead, and Mr. Darwin among the liv- 
ing, hold as high a place as they hold in our na-20 
tional opinion. 

7. Finally, we are proud of our poets and poetry. 
Now poetry is nothing less than the most perfect 
speech of man, that in which he comes nearest to 
being able to utter the truth. It is no small thing, 25 
therefore, to succeed eminently in poetry. And 
so much is required for duly estimating success 
here, that about poetry it is perhaps hardest to 
arrive at a sure general verdict, and takes longest. 
Meanwhile, our own conviction of the superiority 30 



6 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

of our national poets is not decisive, is almost cer- 
tain to be mingled, as we see constantly in Eng- 
lish eulogy of Shakespeare, with much of provin- 
cial infatuation. And we know what was the 
5 opinion current amongst our neighbors the French, 
people of taste, acuteness, and quick literary tact, 
not a hundred years ago, about our great poets. 
The old Biographie Universelle notices the pre- 
tension of the English to a place for their poets 

lo among the chief poets of the world, and says that 
this is a pretension which to no one but an Eng- 
lishman can ever seem admissible. And the 
scornful, disparaging things said by foreigners 
about Shakespeare and Milton, and about our 

15 national over-estimate of them, have been often 
quoted, and will be in every one's remembrance. 
8. A great change has taken place, and Shake- 
speare is now generally recognized, even in France, 
as one of the greatest of poets. Yes, some anti- 

2oGallican cynic will say, the French rank him 
with Corneille and with Victor Hugo! But let 
me have the pleasure of quoting a sentence about 
Shakespeare, which I met with by accident not 
long ago in the Correspondant, 2l French review 

25 which not a dozen English people, I suppose, look 
at. The writer is praising Shakespeare's prose. 
With Shakespeare, he says, "prose comes in when- 
ever the subject, being more familiar, is unsuited 
to the majestic English iambic." And he goes on: 

30 "Shakespeare is the king of poetic rhythm and 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 7 

Style, as well as the king of the realm of thought; 
along with his dazzling prose, Shakespeare has 
succeeded in giving us the most varied, the most 
harmonious verse which has ever sounded upon 
the human ear since the verse of the Greeks." 5 
M. Henry Cochin, the writer of this sentence, 
deserves our gratitude for it; it would not be easy 
to praise Shakespeare, in a single sentence, more 
justly. And when a foreigner and a Frenchman 
writes thus of Shakespeare, and when Goethe 10 
says of Milton, in whom there was so much to 
repel Goethe rather than to attract him, that 
"nothing has been ever done so entirely in the 
sense of the Greeks as Samson Agonistes," and 
that "Milton is in very truth a poet whom we is 
must treat with all reverence," then we understand 
what constitutes a European recognition of poets 
and poetry as contradistinguished from a merely 
national recognition, and that in favor both of 
Milton and of Shakespeare the judgment of the 20 
high court of appeal has finally gone. 

9. I come back to M. Renan's praise of glory, 
from which I started. Yes, real glory is a most 
serious thing, glory authenticated by the Am- 
phictyonic Court of final appeal, definitive glory. 25 
And even for poets and poetry, long and difficult 
as may be the process of arriving at the right 
award, the right award comes at last, the defini- 
tive glory rests where it is deserved. Every 
establishment of such a real glory is good and 30 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 



wholesome for mankind at large, good and whole- 
some for the nation which produced the poet 
crowned with it. To the poet himself it can seldom 
do harm, for he, poor man, is in his grave, prob- 
5 ably, long before his glory crowns him. 

lo. Wordsworth has been in his grave for some 
thirty years, and certainly his lovers and admirers 
cannot flatter themselves that this great and 
steady light of glory as yet shines over him. He 

lois not fully recognized at home; he is not recog- 
nised at all abroad. Yet I firmly believe that 
the poetical performance of Wordsworth is, after 
that of Shakespeare and Milton, of which all the 
world now recognizes the worth, undoubtedly the 

15 most considerable in our language from the Eliza- 
bethan age to the present time. Chaucer is 
anterior; and on other grounds, too, he cannot 
well be brought into the comparison. But taking 
the roll of our chief poetical names, besides 

20 Shakespeare and Milton, from the age of Eliza- 
beth downwards, and going through it, — Spenser, 
Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns, 
Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, Shel- 
ley, Keats (I mention those only who are dead), — 

25 I think it certain that Wordsworth's name de- 
serves to stand, and will finally stand, above them 
all. Several of the poets named have gifts and 
excellences which Wordsworth has not. But 
taking the performance of each as a whole, I say 

30 that Wordsworth seems to me to have left a body 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 9 

of poetical work superior in power, in interest, in 
the qualities which give enduring freshness, to 
that which any one of the others has left. 

11. But this is not enough to say. I think it 
certain, further, that if we take the chief poetical s 
names of the Continent since the death of Moli- 
ere, and, omitting Goethe, confront the remain- 
ing names with that of Wordsworth, the result is 
the same. Let us take Klopstock, Lessing, 
Schiller, Uhland, Riickert, and Heine for Ger- lo 
many; Filicaia, Alfieri, Manzoni, and Leopardi 
for Italy; Racine, Boileau, Voltaire, Andre 
Chenier, Beranger, Lamartine, Musset, M. Victor 
Hugo (he has been so long celebrated that although 
he still lives I may be permitted to name him) 15 
for France. Several of these, again, have evi- 
dently gifts and excellences to which Words- 
worth can make no pretension. But in real poeti- 
cal achievement it seems to me indubitable that 
to Wordsworth, here again, belongs the palm. 20 
It seems to me that Wordsworth has left behind 
him a body of poetical work which wears, and 
will wear, better on the whole than the perform- 
ance of any one of these personages, so far more 
brilliant and celebrated, most of them, than the 25 
homely poet of Rydal. Wordsworth's perform- 
ance in poetry is on the whole, in power, in inter- 
est, in the qualities which give enduring freshness, 
superior to theirs. 

12. This is a high claim to make for Words- 30 



lO ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH j 

worth. But if it is a just claim, if Wordsworth's ] 
place among the poets who have appeared in the j 
last two or three centuries is after Shakespeare, i 
Moliere, Milton, Goethe, indeed, but before all \ 

5 the rest, then in time Wordsworth will haVe his ; 

• due. We shall recognize him in his place, as we i 
recognize Shakespeare and Milton; and not only 
we ourselves shall recognize him, but he will be 
recognized by Europe also. Meanwhile, those j 

lowho recognize him already may do well, perhaps, ! 
to ask themselves whether there are not in the . 
case of Wordsworth certain special obstacles ' 
which hinder or delay his due recognition by ; 
others, and whether these obstacles are not in \ 

IS some measure removable. : 

13. The Excursion and the Preludcy his poems : 

of greatest bulk, are by no means Wordsworth's : 

best work. His best work is in his shorter pieces, i 

and many indeed are there of these which are of 1 

20 first-rate excellence. But in his seven volumes ! 
the pieces of high merit are mingled with a mass 
of pieces very inferior to them; so inferior to them ! 
that it seems wonderful how the same poet should j 
have produced both. Shakespeare frequently '■ 

25 has lines and passages in a strain quite false, and \ 
which are entirely unworthy of him. But one ; 
can imagine his smiling if one could meet him \ 
in the Elysian Fields and tell him so; smiling and \ 
replying that he knew it perfectly well himself, j 

30 and what did it matter? But with Wordsworth 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH II 

the case is different. Work altogether inferior, 
work quite uninspired, flat and dull, is produced 
by him with evident unconsciousness of its de- 
fects, and he presents it to us with the same faith 
and seriousness as his best work. Now a drama 5 
or an epic fill the mind, and one does not look 
beyond them; but in a collection of short pieces 
the impression made by one piece requires to be 
continued and sustained by the piece following. 
In reading Wordsworth the impression made 10 
by one of his fine pieces is too often dulled 
and spoiled by a very inferior piece coming 
after it. 

14. Wordsworth composed verses during a 
space of some sixty years; and it is no exaggera-.is 
tion to say that within one single decade of those 
years, between 1798 and 1808, almost all his 
really first-rate work was produced. A mass 
of inferior work remains, work done before and 
after this golden prime, imbedding the first-rate 20 
work and clogging it, obstructing our approach 
to it, chilling, not unfrequently, the high-wrought 
mood with which we leave it. To be recognized 
far and wide as a great poet, to be possible and 
receivable as a classic, Wordsworth needs to be 25 
relieved of a great deal of the poetical baggage 
which now encumbers him. To administer this 
relief is indispensable, unless he is to continue 
to be a poet for the few only, a poet valued far 
below his real worth by the world. 30 



12 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

15. There is another thing. Wordsworth 
classified his poems not according to any com- 
monly received plan of arrangement, but accord- 
ing to a scheme of mental physiology. He has 

5 poems of the fancy, poems of the imagination, 
poems of sentiment and reflexion, and so on. 
His categories are ingenious but far-fetched, and 
the result of his employment of them is unsatis- 
factory. Poems are separated one from another 
10 which possess a kinship of subject or of treatment 
far more vital and deep than the supposed unity 
of mental origin which was Wordsworth's reason 
for joining them with others. 

16. The tact of the Greeks in matters of this 
15 kind was infallible. We may rely upon it that 

we shall not improve upon the classification 
adopted by the Greeks for kinds of poetry; that 
their categories of epic, dramatic, lyric, and so 
forth, have a natural propriety, and should be 

20 adhered to. It may sometimes seem doubtful to 
which of two categories a poem belongs; whether 
this or that poem is to be called, for instance, 
narrative or lyric, lyric or elegiac. But there is 
to be found in every good poem a strain, a pre- 

25 dominant note, which determines the poem as 
belonging to one of these kinds rather than the 
other; and here is the best proof of the value of 
the classification, and of the advantage of adher- 
ing to it. Wordsworth's poems will never pro- 

3oduce their due effect until they are freed from 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 13 

their present artificial arrangement, and grouped 
more naturally. 

17. Disengaged from the quantity of inferior 
work which now obscures them, the best poems 
of Wordsworth, I hear many people say, would 5 
indeed stand out in great beauty, but they would 
prove to be very few in number, scarcely more 
than half-a-dozen. I maintain, on the other hand, 
that what strikes me with admiration, what es- 
tablishes in my opinion Wordsworth's superiority, lo 
is the great and ample body of powerful work 
which remains to him, even after all his inferior 
work has been cleared away. He gives us so much 
to rest upon, so much which communicates his 
spirit and engages ours! is 

18. This is of very great importance. If it were 
a comparison of single pieces, or of three or four 
pieces, by each poet, I do not say that Words- 
worth would stand decisively above Gray, or 
Burns, or Coleridge, or Keats, or Manzoni, or 20 
Heine. It is in his ampler body of powerful work 
that I find his superiority. His good work itself, 
his work which counts, is not all of it, of course, of 
equal value. Some kinds of poetry are in them- 
selves lower kinds than others. The ballad kind 25 
is a lower kind; the didactic kind, still more, is a 
lower kind. Poetry of this latter sort, counts, 
too, sometimes, by its biographical interest partly, 
not by its poetical interest pure and simple; but 
then this can only be when the poet producing it 30 



14 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

has the power and importance of Wordsworth, 
a power and importance which he assuredly did 
not establish by such didactic poetry alone. Al- 
together, it is, I say, by the great body of powerful 
s and significant work which remains to him, after 
every reduction and deduction has been made, 
that Wordsworth's superiority is proved. 

19. To exhibit this body of Wordsworth's best 
work, to clear away obstructions from around it, 

10 and to let it speak for itself, is what every lover 
of Wordsworth should desire. Until this has been 
done, Wordsworth, whom we, to whom he is dear, 
all of us know and feel to be so great a poet, has 
not had a fair chance before the world. When 

IS once it has been done, he will make his way best 
not by our advocacy of him, but by his own worth 
and power. We may safely leave him to make 
his way thus, we who believe that a superior 
worth and power in poetry finds in mankind a 

20 sense responsive to it and disposed at last to 
recognize it. Yet at the outset, before he has been 
duly known and recognized, we may do Words- 
worth a service, perha,ps, by indicating in what 
his superior power and worth will be found to 

25 consist, and in what it will not. 

20. Long ago, in speaking of Homer, I said that 
the noble and profound application of ideas to 
life is the most essential part of poetic greatness. 
I said that a great poet receives his distinctive 

30 character of superiority from his application, 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 1 5 

under the conditions immutably fixed by the laws 
of poetic beauty and poetic truth, from his ap- 
plication, I say, to his subject, whatever it may 
be, of the ideas 

On man, on nature, and on humao life, S 

which he has acquired for himself. The line 
quoted is Wordsworth's own; and his superiority 
arises from his powerful use, in his best pieces, 
his powerful application to his subject, of ideas 
"on man, on nature, and on human life." lo 

21. Voltaire, with his signal acuteness, most 
truly remarked that "no nation has treated in 
poetry moral ideas with more energy and depth 
than the English nation." And he adds: "There, 
it seems to me, is the great merit of the English 15 
poets." Voltaire does not mean, by "treating in 
poetry moral ideas," the composing moral and 
didactic poems; — that brings us but a very little 
v/ay in poetry. He means just the same thing 
as was meant when I spoke above "of the noble 20 
and profound application of ideas to life"; and he 
means the application of these ideas under the 
conditions fixed for us by the laws of poetic 
beauty and poetic truth. If it is said that to call 
these ideas moral ideas is to introduce a strong 25 
and injurious limitation, I answer that it is to do 
nothing of the kind, because moral ideas are 
really so main a part of human life. The ques- 
tion, how to livey is itself a moral idea; and it is the 



l6 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

question which most interests every man, and 
with which, in some way or other, he is perpetu- 
ally occupied. A large sense is of course to be 
given to the term moral. Whatever bears upon 
5 the question, "how to live," comes under it. 

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but, what thou Hv'st, 
Live well; how long or short, permit? to heaven. 

In those fine lines, Milton utters, as every one 
at once perceives, a moral idea. Yes, but so too, 
lowhen Keats consoles the forward-bending lover 
on the Grecian Urn, the lover arrested and pre- 
sented in immortal relief by the sculptor's hand 
before he can kiss, with the line. 

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair — 

IS he utters a moral idea. When Shakespeare says, 
that 

We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep, 

20 he utters a moral idea. 

22. Voltaire was right in thinking that the 
energetic and profound treatment of moral ideas, 
in this large sense, is what distinguishes the Eng- 
lish poetry. He sincerely meant praise, not dis- 

25 praise or hint of limitation; and they err who 
suppose that poetic limitation is a necessary 
consequence of the fact, the fact being granted as 
Voltaire states it. If what distinguishes the great- 
est poets is their powerful and profound appli- 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH I7 

cation of ideas to life, which surely no good critic 
will deny, then to prefix to the term ideas here 
the term moral makes hardly any difference, be- 
cause human life itself is in so preponderating a 
5 degree moral. 

23. It is important, therefore, to hold fast to 
this: that poetry. is at bottom a criticism of life; 
that the greatness of a poet lies in his powerful 
and beautiful application of ideas to life, — to the 
10 question: How to live. Morals are often treated 
in a narrow and false fashion, they are bound up 
with systems of thought and belief which have 
had their day, they are fallen into the hands of 
pedants and professional dealers, they grow tire- 
is some to some of us. We find attraction, at times, 
even in a poetry of revolt against them; in a 
poetry which might take for its motto Omar 
Khayyam's words: ''Let us make up in the 
tavern for the time which we have wasted in the 
20 mosque." Or we find attractions in a poetry in- 
different to them, in a poetry where the contents 
may be what they will, but where the form is 
studied and exquisite. We delude ourselves in 
either case; and the best cure for our delusion is 
25 to let our minds rest upon that great and inex- 
haustible word life, until we learn to enter into 
its meaning. A poetry of revolt against moral 
ideas is a poetry of revolt against life; a poetry 
of indifference towards moral ideas is a poetry 
30 of indifference towards life. 



1 8 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

24. Epictetus had a happy figure for things like 
the play of the senses, or literary form and finish, 
or argumentative ingenuity, in comparison with 
"the best and master thing" for us, as he called 
it, the concern, how to live. Some people were s 
afraid of them, he said, or they disliked and under- 
valued them. Such people were wrong; they were 
unthankful or cowardly. But the things might 
also be over-prized, and treated as final when they 
are not. They bear to life the relation which inns 10 
bear to home. "As if a man, journeying home, 
and finding a nice inn on the road, and liking it, 
were to stay for ever at the inn! Man, thou hast 
forgotten thine object; thy journey was not to 
this, but through this. 'But this inn is taking.' is 
And how many other inns, too, are taking, and 
how many fields and meadows! but as places of 
passage merely. You have an object, which is 
this: to get home, to do your duty to your family, 
friends, and fellow-countrymen, to attain inward 20 
freedom, serenity, happiness, contentment. Style 
takes your fancy, arguing takes your fancy, and 
you forget your home and want to make your 
abode with them and to stay with them, on the 
plea that they are taking. Who denies that they 25 
are taking? but as places of passage, as inns. And 
when I say this, you suppose me to be attacking 
the care for style, the care for argument. I am 
not; I attack the resting in them, the not looking 
to the end which is beyond them," 30 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH I9 

25. Now, when we come across a poet like 
Theophile Gautier, we have a poet who has taken 
up his abode at an inn, and never got farther. 
There may be inducements to this or that one of 

5 us, at this or that moment, to find delight in him, 
to cleave to him; but after all, we do not change 
the truth about him, — we only stay ourselves in 
his inn along with him. And when we come across 
a poet like Wordsworth, who sings, 

^° Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love and hope. 

And melancholy fear subdued by faith, 
Of blessed consolations in distress, 
Of moral strength and intellectual power, 
Of joy in widest commonalty spread — 

IS then we have a poet intent on ''the best and 
master thing," and who prosecutes his journey 
home. We say, for brevity's sake, that he deals 
with life, because he deals with that in which life 
really consists. This is what Voltaire means to 

20 praise in the English poets, — this dealing with 
what is really life. But always it is the mark of 
the greatest poets that they deal with it; and to 
say that the English poets are remarkable for 
dealing with it, is only another way of saying, 

25 what is true, that in poetry the English genius 
has especially shown its power. 

26. Wordsworth deals with it, and his greatness 
lies in his dealing with it so powerfully. I have 
named a number of celebrated poets, above all 

30 of whom he, in my opinion, deserves to be placed. 



20 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

He is to be placed above poets like Voltaire, Dry- 
den, Pope, Lessing, Schiller, because these famous 
personages, with a thousand gifts and merits, 
never, or scarcely ever, attain the distinctive 
accent and utterance of the high and genuine s 
poets — 

Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti, 

at all. Burns, Keats, Heine, not to speak of others 
in our list, have this accent; — who can doubt it? 
And at the same time they have treasures ofio 
humor, felicity, passion, for which in Wordsworth 
we shall look in vain. Where, then, is Words- 
worth's superiority? It is here; he deals with 
more of life than they do; he deals with life, as a 
whole, more powerfully. is 

27. No Wordsworthian will doubt this. Nay, 
the fervent Wordsworthian will add, as Mr. Leslie 
Stephen does, that Wordsworth's poetry is pre- 
cious because his philosophy is sound; that his 
"ethical system is as distinctive and capable of 20 
exposition as Bishop Butler's"; that his poetry 
is informed by ideas which "fall spontaneously 
into a scientific system of thought." But we must 
be on our guard against the Wordsworthians, if 
we want to secure for Wordsworth his due rank 25 
as a poet. The Wordsworthians are apt to praise 
him for the wrong things, and to lay far too much 
stress upon what they call his philosophy. His 
poetry is the reality, his philosophy, — so far, at 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 21 

least, as it may put on the form and habit of "a 
scientific system of thought," and the more that 
it puts them on, — is the illusion. Perhaps we shall 
one day learn to make this proposition general, 
5 and to say: Poetry is the reality, philosophy the 
illusion. But in Wordsworth's case, at any rate, 
we cannot do him justice until we dismiss his 
formal philosophy. 

28. The Excursion abounds with philosophy, 
10 and therefore the Excursion is to the Words- 

worthian what it never can be to the disinterested 
lover of poetry, — a satisfactory work. "Duty 
exists," says Wordsworth, in the Excursion; and 
then he proceeds thus: — 

^5 .... Immutably survive, 

For our support, the measures and the forms, 

Which an abstract IntelHgence supplies, 

Whose kingdom is, where time and space are not. 

And the Wordsworthian is delighted, and thinks 
20 that here is a sweet union of philosophy and poetry. 
But the disinterested lover of poetry will feel that 
the lines carry us really not a step farther than 
the proposition which they would interpret; that 
they are a tissue of elevated but abstract verbiage, 
25 alien to the very nature of poetry. 

29. Or let us come direct to the center of Words- 
worth's philosophy, as "an ethical system, as dis- 
tinctive and capable of systematical exposition 
as Bishop Butler's": — 



22 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

. . . . One adequate support 

For the calamities of mortal life 

Exists, one only; — an assured belief 

That the procession of our fate, howe'er 

Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being S 

Of infinite benevolence and power; 

Whose everlasting purposes embrace 

All accidents, converting them to good. 

That is doctrine such as we hear in church too, 
rehgious and philosophic doctrine; and the at- lo 
tached Wordsworthian loves passages of such 
doctrine, and brings them forward in proof of 
his poet's excellence. But however true the doc- 
trine may be, it has, as here presented, none of 
the characters of poetic truth, the kind of truth is 
which we require from a poet, and in which Words- 
worth is really strong. 

30. Even the ''intimations" of the famous Ode, 
those corner-stones of the supposed philosophic 
system of Wordsworth, — the idea of the high in- 20 
stincts and affections coming out in childhood, 
testifying of a divine home recently left, and fad- 
ing away as our life proceeds, — this idea, of un- 
deniable beauty as a play of fancy, has itself not 
the character of poetic truth of the best kind; it 25 
has no real solidity. The instinct of delight in 
Nature and her beauty had no doubt extraordi- 
nary strength in Wordsworth himself as a child. 
But to say that universally this instinct is mighty 
in childhood, and tends to die away afterwards, 30 
is to say what is extremely doubtful. In many 



r 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 23 



people, perhaps with the majority of educated 
persons, the love of nature is nearly imperceptible 
at ten years old, but strong and operative at thirty. 
In general we may say of these high instincts of 
5 early childhood, the base of the alleged systematic 
philosophy of Wordsworth, what Thucydides 
says of the early achievements of the Greek race — 
"It is impossible to speak with certainty of what 
is so remote; but from all that we can really in- 
lovestigate, I should say that they were no very 
great things." 

31. Finally the "scientific system of thought" 
in Wordsv/orth gives us at last such poetry as 
this, which the devout Wordsworthian accepts: — 

^5 O for the coming of that glorious time 

When, prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth 
And best protection, this Imperial Realm, 
While she exacts allegiance, shall admit 
An obligation, on her part, to teach 

^° Them who are born to serve her and obey; 

Binding herself by statute to secure. 
For all the children whom her soil maintains. 
The rudiments of letters, and inform 
The mind with moral and religious truth. 

25 Wordsworth calls Voltaire dull, and surely the 
production of these un- Voltairian lines must have 
been imposed on him as a judgment! One can 
hear them being quoted at a Social Science Con- 
gress; one can call up the whole scene. A great 

30 room in one of our dismal provincial towns; dusty 



/ 



24 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH ) 

air and jaded afternoon daylight; benches full of 
men with bald heads and women in spectacles; 
an orator lifting up his face from a manuscript 
written within and without to declaim these lines 
of Wordsworth; and in the soul of any poor child 5 
of nature who may have wandered in thither, an 
unutterable sense of lamentation, and mourning, 
and woe! 

32. *'But turn we,'* as Wordsworth says, **from 
these bold, bad men," the haunters of Social 10 ) 
Science Congresses. And let us be on our guard, 
too, against the exhibitors and extoUers of a 
"scientific system of thought" in Wordsworth's 
poetry. The poetry will never be seen aright 
while they thus exhibit it. The cause of its great- 15 
ness is simple, and may be told quite simply. 
Wordsworth's poetry is great because of the 
extraordinary power with which Wordsworth feels 
the joy offered to us in nature, the joy offered to 
us in the simple primary affections and duties; 20 
and because of the extraordinary power with j 
which, in case after case, he shows us this joy, and 
renders it so as to make us share it. i 

33. The source of joy from which he thus draws ! 
is the truest and most unfailing source of joy 25 j 
accessible to man. It is also accessible universally. 1 
Wordsworth brings us word, therefore, according 

to his own strong and characteristic line, he brings 
US word j 

Of joy in widest: commonalty spread. 30 ■ 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 2^ 

Here is an immense advantage for a poet. Words- 
worth tells of what all seek, and tells of it at its 
truest and best source, and yet a source where 
all may go and draw for it. 
5 34. Nevertheless, we are not to suppose that 
everything is precious which Wordsworth, stand- 
ing even at this perennial and beautiful source, 
may give us. Wordsworthians are apt to talk as 
if it must be. They will speak with the same 

10 reverence of The Sailor s Mother, for example, as 
of Lucy Gray. They do their master harm by 
such lack of discrimination. Lucy Gray is a beauti- 
ful success; The Sailor s Mother is a failure. To 
give aright what he wishes to give, to interpret and 

15 render successfully, is not always within Words- 
worth's own command. It is within no poet's 
command; here is the part of the Muse, the inspira- 
tion, the God, the "not ourselves." In Words- 
worth's case, the accident, for so it may almost be 

20 called, of inspiration, is of peculiar importance. 
No poet, perhaps, is so evidently filled with a new 
and sacred energy when the inspiration is upon 
him; no poet, when it fails him, is so left "weak 
as is a breaking wave." I remember hearing him 

25 say that "Goethe's poetry was not inevitable 
enough." The remark is striking and true; no 
line in Goethe, as Goethe said himself, but its 
maker knew well how it came there. Wordsworth 
is right, Goethe's poetry is not inevitable; not 

30 inevitable enough. But Wordsworth's poetry, 



26 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

when he is at his best, is inevitable, as inevitable 
as Nature herself. It might seem that Nature 
not only gave him the matter for his poem, but 
wrote his poem for him. He has no style. He 
was too conversant with Milton not to catch at 5 
times his master's manner, and he has fine Mil- 
tonic lines; but he has no assured poetic style of 
his own, like Milton. When he seeks to have a 
style he falls into ponderosity and pomposity. 
In the Excursion we have his style, as an artistic 10 
product of his own creation; and although Jeffrey 
completely failed to recognize Wordsworth's real 
greatness, he was yet not wrong in saying of the 
Excursion^ as a work of poetic style: ''This will 
never do." And yet magical as is that power, 15 
which Wordsworth has not, of assured and pos- 
sessed poetic style, he has something which is an 
equivalent for it. 

35. Every one who has any sense for these 
things feels the subtle turn, the heightening, 20 
which is given to a poet's verse by his genius for 
style. We can feel it in the 

After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well — 

of Shakespeare; in the 

though fall'n on evil days, ^5 

On evil days though fall'n, and evil tongues — 

of Milton. It is the incomparable charm of Mil- 
ton's power of poetic style which gives such worth 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 27 

to Paradise Regained, and makes a great poem of 
a work in which Milton's imagination does not 
soar high. Wordsworth has in constant possession, 
and at command, no style of this kind; but he 
shad too poetic a nature, and had read the great 
poets too well, not to catch, as I have already 
remarked, something of it occasionally. We 
find it not only in his Miltonic lines; we find it 
in such a phrase as this, where the manner is his 
loown, not Milton's — 

.... the fierce confederate storm 
Of sorrow barricadoed evermore 
Within the walls of cities; 

although even here, perhaps, the power of style, 
^5 which is undeniable, is more properly that of 
eloquent prose than the subtle heightening and 
change wrought by genuine poetic style. It is 
style, again, and the elevation given by style, 
which chiefly makes the efl^ectiveness of Laoda- 
2° meia. Still the right sort of verse to choose from 
Wordsworth, if we are to seize his true and 
characteristic form of expression, is a line like 
this from Michael: — 

And never lifted up a single stone. 

25 There is nothing subtle in it, no heightening, no 
study of poetic style, strictly so called, at all; 
yet it is expression of the highest and most truly 
expressive kind. 



28 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

36. Wordsworth owed much to Burns, and a 
style of perfect plainness, relying for effect solely 
on the weight and force of that which with entire 
fidelity it utters. Burns could show him. 

The poor inhabitant below S 

Was quick to learn and wise to know. 
And keenly felt the friendly glow 

And softer flame; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low 

And stain'd his name. 10 

Every one will be conscious of a likeness here to 
Wordsworth; and if Wordsworth did great things 
with this nobly plain manner, we must remember, 
what indeed he himself would always have been for- 
ward to acknowledge, that Burns used it before him. 15 

37. Still Wordsworth's use of it has something 
unique and unmatchable. Nature herself seems, 
I say, to take the pen out of his hand, and to write 
for him with her own bare, sheer, penetrating 
power. This arises from two causes: from the 20 
profound sincereness with which Wordsworth 
feels his subject, and also from the profoundly 
sincere and natural character of his subject itself. 
He can and will treat such a subject with nothing 
but the most plain, first-hand, almost austere 25 
naturalness. His expression may often be called 
bald, as, for instance, in the poem of Resolution 
and Independence; but it is bald as the bare 
mountain tops are bald, with a baldness which 

is full of grandeur. 30 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 29 

38. Wherever we meet with the successful 
balance in Wordsworth, of profound truth of 
subject with profound truth of execution, he is 
unique. His best poems are those which most 
5 perfectly exhibit this balance. I have a warm 
admiration for Laodameia and for the great Ode; 
but if I am to tell the very truth, I find Laodameia 
not wholly free from something artificial, and the 
great Ode not wholly free from something declama- 

10 tory. If I had to pick out poems of a kind most 
perfectly to show Wordsworth's unique power, 
I should rather choose poems such as Michael, 
The Fountain, The Highland Reaper. And poems 
with the peculiar and unique beauty which dis- 

15 tinguishes these, Wordsworth produced in con- 
siderable number; besides very many other poems 
of which the worth, although not so rare as the 
worth of these, is still exceedingly high. 

39. On the whole, then, as I said at the begin- 

-zoning, not only is Wordsworth eminent by reason 
of the goodness of his best work, but he is eminent 
also by reason of the great body of good work 
which he has left to us. With the ancients I will 
not compare him. In many respects the ancients 

25 are far above us, and yet there is something that 
we demand which they can never give. Leaving 
the ancients, let us come to the poets and poetry 
of Christendom. Dante, Shakespeare, Moliere, 
Milton, Goethe, are altogether larger and more 

30 splendid luminaries in the poetical heaven than 



30 ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

Wordsworth. But I know not where else, among 
the moderns, we are to find his superiors. 

40. To disengage the poems which show his 
power, and to present them to the EngHsh-speak- 
ing public and to the world, is the object of this 5 
volume. I by no means say that it contains all 
which in Wordsworth's poems is interesting. Ex- 
cept in the case oi Margaret, a story composed sep- 
arately from the rest of the Excursion, and which 
belongs to a different part of England, I have not 10 
ventured on detaching portions of poems, or on 
giving any piece otherwise than as Wordsworth 
himself gave it. But, under the conditions im- 
posed by this reserve, the volume contains, I 
think, everything, or nearly everything, which 15 
may best serve him with the majority of lovers 
of poetry, nothing which may disserve him. 

41. I have spoken lightly of Wordsworthians: 
and if we are to get Wordsworth recognized by 
the public and by the world, we must recommend 20 
him not in the spirit of a clique, but in the spirit 
of disinterested lovers of poetry. But I am a 
Wordsworthian myself. I can read with pleasure 
and edification Peter Bell, and the whole series 
of Ecclesiastical Sonnets, and the address to Mr. 25 
Wilkinson's spade, and even the Thanksgiving 
Ode; — everything of Wordsworth, I think, except 
Vaudracour and Julia. It is not for nothing that 
one has been brought up in the veneration of a 
man so truly worthy of homage; that one has 30 



ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 3 1 

seen him and heard him, lived in his neighbor- 
hood and been familiar with his country. No 
Wordsworthian has a tenderer affection for this 
pure and sage master than I, or is less really 
5 offended by his defects. But Wordsworth is 
something more than the pure and sage master 
of a small band of devoted followers, and we 
ought not to rest satisfied until he is seen to be 
what he is. He is one of the very chief glories of 

lo English Poetry; and by nothing is England so 
glorious as by her poetry. Let us lay aside every 
weight which hinders our getting him recognized 
as this, and let our one study be to bring to pass, 
as widely as possible and as truly as possible, his 

15 own word concerning his poems: — "They will 
co-operate with the benign tendencies in human 
nature and society, and will, in their degree, be 
efficacious in making men wiser, better, and hap- 
pier." 



SELECTED POEMS OF 
WORDSWORTH 



Wi^T 



n 




I 

POEMS IN BALLAD FORM 

WE ARE SEVEN 
-A simple child, 



That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every, limb. 
What should it know of death? 

s I met a little cottage Girl: 

She was eight years old, she said; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her head. 

She had a rustic, woodland air, 
lo And she was wildly clad: 

Her eyes were fair, and very fair; 
— Her beauty made me glad. 

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, 
How many may you heV 
15 "How many-f* Seven in all," she said, 
And wondering looked at me. 

"And where are they.? I pray you tell." 
She answered, "Seven are we; 
And two of us at Conway dwell, 
20 And two are gone to sea. 

35 



36 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM 

"Two of US in the churchyard He, 
My sister and my brother; 
And, in the churchyard cottage, I 
Dwell near them with my mother." 

25 "You say that two at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea. 
Yet ye are seven ! — I pray you tell. 
Sweet Maid, how this may be." 

Then did the little Maid reply, 
30 "Seven boys and girls are we; 
Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
Beneath the churchyard tree." 

"You run about, my little Maid, 
Your limbs they are alive; 
35 If two are in the churchyard laid, 
Then ye are only five." 

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," 
The little Maid replied, 

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 
40 And they are side by side. 

"My stockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there I hem; 
And there upon the ground I sit — 
I sit and sing to them, 



WE ARE SEVEN 37 ,; 

45 "And often after sunset, Sir, ! 

When it is light and fair, ! 

I take my little porringer. 
And eat my supper there. 

"The first that died was little Jane; 

so In bed she moaning lay, \ 

Till God released her of her pain; ] 

And then she went away. i 

"So in the churchyard she was laid; ! 

And, when the grass was dry, i 

55 Together round her grave we played. 
My brother John and I. 



"And when the ground was white with snow. 
And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 
6o And he lies by her side." 

"How many are you, then," said I, 
"If they two are in Heaven.?" 
The little Maiden did reply, 
"O Master! we are seven." 

6s "But they are dead; those two are dead! 
Their spirits are in Heaven ! " 
'Twas throwing words away; for still 
The little Maid would have her will, 
And said, "Nay, we are seven!" 



LUCY GRAY; 

OR, SOLITUDE 

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: 
And, when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see at break of day 
The solitary Child. 

s No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 
She dwelt on a wide moor, 
— ^The sweetest thing that ever grew 
Beside a human door! 

You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
lo The hare upon the green; 

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
Will never more be seen. 

"To-night will be a stormy night — 
You to the town must go; 
IS And take a lantern. Child, to light 
Your mother through the snow.'* 

"That, Father! will I gladly do: 
'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
The Minster-clock has just struck two, 
20 And yonder is the Moon." 
38 



LUCY GRAY 39 

At this the Father raised his hook, 
And snapped a faggot-band; 
He pHed his work; — and Lucy took 
The lantern in her hand. 

25 Not blither is the mountain roe: 
With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
That rises up like smoke. 

The snow came on before its time: 
30 She wandered up and down; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb; 
But never reached the town. 

The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide; 
35 But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 

At day-break on a hill they stood 
That overlooked the moor; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 
40 A furlong from their door. 

They wept — and, turning homeward, cried, 
"In Heaven we all shall meet;" 
— When in the. snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 



40 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM 

45 Half breathless from the steep hill's edge 
They tracked the footmarks small; 
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, 
And by the long stone- wall; 

And then an open field they crossed: 
so The marks were still the same; 

They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 
And to the Bridge they came. 

They followed from the snowy bank 
Those footmarks, one by one, 
55 Into the middle of the plank; 
And further there were none! 

— Yet some maintain that to this day 
She is a living child; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
60 Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along 
And never looks behind; 
And sings a solitary song 
That whistles in the wind. 



STAR-GAZERS 

What crowd is this? what have we here! we must 

not pass it by; 
A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the 

sky: 
Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat. 
Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's 

waters float. 

5 The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leices- 
ter's busy Square; 

And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are 
blue and fair; 

Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each 
stands ready with the fee. 

Impatient till his moment comes — what an in- 
sight must it be! 

Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause? Shall 
thy implement have blame, 
lo A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put 
to shame? 
Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in 

fault? 
Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon resplendent 
Vault? 

41 



42 POEMS IN BALLAD FORM i 

Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we i 

have here? l 
Or gives a thing but small deHght that never can 

be dear? I 

IS The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of | 

mightiest fame, I 

Doth she betray us when they're seen ? or are they i 

but a name? 

Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong, 
And bounty never yields so much but it seems to I 

do her wrong? ■ 

Or is it, that when human souls a journey long 

have had I 

20 And are returned into themselves, they cannot \ 

but be sad ? j 

Or must we be constrained to think that these , 

spectators rude, ^ 

Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the 1 

multitude, I 

Have souls which never yet have risen, and | 

therefore prostrate lie? ' 

No, no, this cannot be — Men thirst for power j 

and majesty! 



?5 Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the 
blissful mind employ 
Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and 
steady joy, 



I 



STAR-GAZERS 43 

That doth reject all show of pride, admits no 

outward sign, 
Because not of this noisy world, but silent and 

divine! 

Whatever be the cause, *tis sure that they who 

pry and pore 
30 Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy 

than before: 
One after one they take their turn, nor have I 

one espied 
That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied. 



\ 

■I 

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN I 

At the corner of Wood Street, when dayHght ' 

appears, 
Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for 

three years: 
Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard ! 
In the silence of morning the song of the Bird. 

5 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She 

sees ! 

A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; , 

Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, ! 

And a river flows on through the vale of Cheap- j 

side. i 

i 

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, j 

lo Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; - 

And a single small Cottage, a nest like a dove's, [ 

The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they | 

fade, 
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: j 
15 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, ' 
And the colors have all passed away from her eyes, i 



44 



II 

NARRATIVE POEMS 
THE LEECH-GATHERER; 

OR, 

RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE 

There was a roaring in the wind all night; 
The rain came heavily and fell in floods; 
But now the sun is rising calm and bright; 
The birds are singing in the distant woods; 
5 Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods; 
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; 
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of 
waters. 

All things that love the sun are out of doors; 
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; 
lo The grass is bright with rain-drops; — on the moors 
The Hare is running races in her mirth; 
And with her feet she from the plashy earth 
Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun, 
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. 

IS I was a traveler then upon the moor; 
I saw the Hare that raced about with joy; 
I heard the woods and distant waters roar; 
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: 
45 



46 NARRATIVE POEMS 

The pleasant season did my heart employ: 
20 My old remembrances went from me wholly; 
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy! 

But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might 
Of joy in minds that can no further go, 
As high as we have mounted in delight 
25 In our dejection do we sink as low, 
To me that morning did it happen so; 
And fears and fancies thick upon me came; 
Dim sadness — and blind thoughts, I knew not, 
nor could name. 

I heard the Sky-lark warbling in the sky; 
30 And I bethought me of the playful Hare: 

Even such a happy child of earth am I; 

Even as these blissful creatures do I fare; 

Far from the world I walk, and from all care; 

But there may come another day to me — 
35 Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 

My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, 
As if life's business were a summer mood: 
As if all needful things would come unsought 
To genial faith, still rich in genial good: 
40 But how can He expect that others should 
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call 
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all ^ 

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, 
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride; 



THE LEECH-GATHERER 47 

45 Of Him who walked in glory and in joy i 

Following his plough, along the mountain-side: | 

By our own spirits are we deified; I 

We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; / 

But thereof comes in the end despondency and < 

madness. i 

'( 

50 Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, 1 

A leading from above, a something given, ' 

Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place, 

When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, ' 

Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven 
55 I saw a Man before me unawares: 

The oldest man he seemed that ever w^ore grey hairs. j 

As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie \ 
Couched on the bald top of an eminence; 

Wonder to all who do the same espy, j 

60 By what means it could thither come, and whence; 1 
So that it seems a thing endued with sense: 

Like a Sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf \ 

Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; J 

Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, 
65 Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age: 

His body was bent double, feet and head 

Coming together in life's pilgrimage; 

As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage 

Of sickness felt by him in times long past, I 

70 A more than human weight upon his frame had 1 

cast. I 



48 NARRATIVE POEMS | 

Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face, i 

Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood: , 

And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, i 

Upon the margin of that moorish flood 1 

75 Motionless as a Cloud the Old-man stood; I 

That heareth not the loud winds when they call; \ 

And moveth all together, if it move at all. ' 

At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond j 

Stirred with his Staffs, and fixedly did look ■ 

80 Upon the muddy water, which he conned, ■ 
As if he had been reading in a book: 
And now a stranger's privilege I took; 
And, drawing to his side, to him did say, 

"This morning gives us promise of a glorious : 

day." ] 

! 

8s A gentle answer did the Old-man make. 

In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: ^ 

And him with further words I thus bespake, I 
"What occupation do you there pursue.? 

This is a lonesome place for one like you." , 

90 He answered, while a flash of mild surprise 

Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid eyes. j 

i 

His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, 1 
But each in solemn order followed each. 
With something of a lofty utterance drest — 
95 Choice word and measured phrase, above the 

reach i 



THE LEECH-GATHERER 49 

Of ordinary men; a stately speech; 
Such as grave livers do in Scotland use, 
Religious men, who give to God and man their 
dues. 

He told, that to these waters he had come 
loo To gather Leeches, being old and poor: 
Employment hazardous and wearisome! 
And he had many hardships to endure; 
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to 

moor; 
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or 
chance; 
105 And in this way he gained an honest mainte- 
nance. 

The Old-man still stood talking by my side: 
But now his voice to me was like a stream 
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I 

divide: 
And the whole Body of the Man did seem 
no Like one whom I had met with in a dream: 
Or like a man from some far region sent, 
To give me human strength, by apt admonish- 
ment. 

My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; 
And hope that is unwilling to be fed; 
115 Cold, pain, and labor, and all fleshly ills; 
And mighty Poets in their misery dead. 



50 NARRATIVE POEMS 

— Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, 

My question eagerly did I renew, 

"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" 

1 20 He with a smile did then his words repeat; 

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide 
He traveled;, stirring thus about his feet 
The waters of the Pools where they abide. 
"Once I could meet with them on every side; 

125 But they have dwindled long by slow decay; 
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may." 

While he was talking thus, the lonely place. 
The Old-man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: 
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace 
About the weary moors continually, 
130 Wandering about alone and silently. 

While I these thoughts within myself pursued. 
He, having made a pause, the same discourse 
renewed. 

And soon with this he other matter blended, 
135 Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind. 

But stately in the main; and when he ended, 
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find 
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind. 
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; 
140 I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely 
moor!" 



MICHAEL 

A PASTORAL POEM 

If from the public way you turn your steps 
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, 
You will suppose that with an upright path 
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent 

5 The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. 
But, courage! for around that boisterous Brook 
The mountains have all opened out themselves. 
And made a hidden valley of their own. 
No habitation can be seen; but they 

lo Who journey hither find themselves alone 

With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and 

kites 
That overhead are sailing in the sky. 
It is in truth an utter solitude; 
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell 

IS But for one object which you might pass by. 
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook 
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones! 
And to that place a story appertains. 
Which, though it be ungarnished with events, 

20 Is not unfit, I deem, for the fireside. 

Or for the summer shade. It was the first 
Of those domestic tales that spake to me 
Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men 

51 



52 NARRATIVE POEMS 

Whom I already loved; — not verily 
25 For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 

Where was their occupation and abode. 

And hence this tale, while I was yet a Boy 

Careless of books, yet having felt the power 

Of Nature, by the gentle agency 
30 Of natural objects led me on to feel 

For passions that were not my own, and think 

(At random and imperfectly indeed) 

On man, the heart of man, and human life. 

Therefore, although it be a history 
35 Homely and rude, I will relate the same 

For the delight of a few natural hearts; 

And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake 

Of youthful Poets, who among these Hills 

Will be my second self when I am gone. 

40 Upon the Forest-side in Grasmere Vale 

There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name; 
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. 
His bodily frame had been from youth to age 
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen, 

45 Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. 

And in his Shepherd's calling he was prompt 
And watchful more than ordinary men. 
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, 
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, 

50 When others heeded not. He heard the South 
Make subterraneous music, like the noise 
Of Bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 



MICHAEL 53 

The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock 
Bethought him, and he to himself would say, 

55 "The winds are now devising work for me!" 
And, truly, at all times, the storm — that drives 
The traveler to a shelter — summoned him 
Up to the mountains: he had been alone 
Amid the heart of many thousand mists, 

60 That came to him and left him on the heights. 
So lived he till his eightieth year was past. 
And grossly that man errs, who should suppose 
That the green Valleys, and the Streams and 

Rocks, 
Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's 
thoughts. 

65 Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had 
breathed 
The common air; the hills, which he so oft 
Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had 

impressed 
So many incidents upon his mind 
Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; 

70 Which, like a book, preserved the memory 
Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, 
Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts, 
The certainty of honorable gain. 
Those fields, those hills — what could they less.? 
had laid 

75 Strong hold on his affections, were to him 
A pleasurable feeling of blind love. 
The pleasure which there is in life itself. 



54 NARRATIVE POEMS 

His days had not been passed in singleness. 
His Helpmate was a comely Matron, old — 

80 Though younger than himself full twenty years. 
She was a woman of a stirring life, 
Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had 
Of antique form, this large for spinning wool. 
That small for flax; and if one wheel had rest, 

85 It was because the other was at work. 
The Pair had but one inmate in their house, 
An only Child, who had been born to them 
When Michael, telling o'er his years, began 
To deem that he was old, — in Shepherd's phrase, 

90 With one foot in the grave. This only Son 

With two brave Sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, 
The one of an inestimable worth. 
Made all their household. I may truly say, 
That they were as a proverb in the vale 

95 For endless industry. When day was gone. 
And from their occupations out of doors 
The Son and Father were come home, even then 
Their labor did not cease; unless when all 
Turned to their cleanly supper-board, and there, 

100 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk. 
Sat round their basket piled with oaten cakes 
And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when 

their meal 
Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) 
And his old Father both betook themselves 

105 To such convenient work as might employ 
Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card 



MICHAEL 55 

Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair 
Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, 
Or other implement of house or field. 

no Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge. 
That in our ancient uncouth country style 
Did with a huge projection o verb row 
Large space beneath, as duly as the light 
Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a Lamp; 

IIS An aged utensil, which had performed 
Service beyond all others of its kind. 
Early at evening did it burn and late. 
Surviving comrade of uncounted Hours, 
Which, going by from year to year, had found, 

I20 And left the couple neither gay perhaps 

Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, 

Living a life of eager industry. 

And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth 

year 
There by the light of this old lamp they sat, 

125 Father and Son, while late into the night 
The Housewife plied her own peculiar work. 
Making the cottage through the silent hours 
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. 
This Light was famous in its neighborhood, 

130 And was a public symbol of the life 

That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, 
Their Cottage on a plot of rising ground 
Stood single, with large prospect. North and 
South, 



56 NARRATIVE POEMS 

High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, 
135 And westward to the village near the Lake; 
And from this constant hght, so regular 
And so far seen, the House itself, by all 
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, 
Both old and young, was named The Evening 
Star. 

140 Thus living on through such a length of years. 
The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs 
Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart 
This Son of his old age was yet more dear — 
Less from instinctive tenderness, the same 

145 Blind spirit, which is in the blood of all — 
Than that a child more than all other gifts. 
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, 
And stirrings of inquietude, when they 
By tendency of nature needs must fail. 

ISO Exceeding was the love he bare to him, 

His Heart and his Heart's joy! For oftentimes 
Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, 
Had done him female service, not alone 
For pastime and delight, as is the use 

IS5 Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced 
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked 
His cradle with a woman's gentle hand. 

And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy 
Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, 
i6o Albeit of a stern unbending mind, 



Michael 57 

To have the Young-one in his sight, when he 
Had work by his own door, or when he sat 
With sheep before him on his Shepherd's stool, 
Beneath that large old Oak, which near their door 

165 Stood, — and, from its enormous breadth of shade 
Chosen for the shearer's covert from the sun, 
Thence in our rustic dialect was called 
The Clipping Tree,^ a name which yet it bears. 
There, while they two were sitting in the shade, 

170 With others round them, earnest all and blithe, 
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks 
Of fond correction and reproof bestowed 
Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep 
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 

175 Scared them, while they lay still beneath the 
shears. 

And when by Heaven's good grace the Boy 
grew up 
A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek 
Two steady roses that were five years old, 
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 

180 With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped 
With iron, making it throughout in all 
Due requisites a perfect Shepherd's Staff, 
And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt 
He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 

185 At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; 

^Clipping is the word used in the North of England for 
shearing. 



58 NARRATIVE POEMS 

And, to his office prematurely called, 
There stood the Urchin, as you will divine, 
Something between a hindrance and a help; 
And for this cause not always, I believe, 
190 Receiving from his Father hire of praise; 

Though nought was left undone which staff, or 

voice. 
Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform. 

But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand 
Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, 

iQS Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways. 
He with his Father daily went, and they 
Were as companions, why should I relate 
That objects which the Shepherd loved before 
Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came 

200 Feelings and emanations — things which were 
Light to the sun and music to the wind; 
And that the Old Man's heart seemed born again? 

Thus in his Father's sight the boy grew up: 
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth 
year, 
205 He was his comfort and his daily hope. 

While in this sort the simple Household lived 
From day to day, to Michael's ear there came 
Distressful tidings. Long before the time 
Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound 
210 In surety for his Brother's Son, a man 



MICHAEL 59 

Of an industrious life, and ample means, — 
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly 
Had prest upon him, — and old Michael now 
Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, 

215 A grievous penalty, but little less 

Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, 
At the first hearing, for a moment took 
More hope out of his life than he supposed 
That any old man ever could have lost. 

220 As soon as he had gathered so much strength 
That he could look his trouble in the face, 
It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell 
A portion of his patrimonial fields. 
Such was his first resolve; he thought again, 

225 And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he. 
Two evenings after he had heard the news, 
"I have been toiling more than seventy years. 
And in the open sunshine of God's love 
Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours 

230 Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think 
That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself 
Has scarcely been more diligent than I; 
And I have lived to be a fool at last 

235 To my own family. An evil Man 

That was, and made an evil choice, if he 
Were false to us; and if he were not false, 
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this 
Had been no sorrow. I forgive him — but 

240 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 



6o NARRATIVE POEMS 

When I began, my purpose was to speak 
Of remedies, and of a cheerful hope. 
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land 
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free; 

245 He shall possess it, free as is the wind 

That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, 
Another Kinsman — he will be our friend 
In this distress. He is a prosperous man, 
Thriving in trade — and Luke to him shall go, 

250 And with his Kinsman's help and his own thrift 
He quickly will repair this loss, and then 
May come again to us. If here he stay. 
What can be done? Where every one is poor. 
What can be gained.?" At this the Old Man 
paused, 

255 And Isabel sat silent, for her mind 

Was busy, looking back into past times. 
There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, 
He was a Parish-boy — at the Church-door 
They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence, 

260 And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought 
A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares; 
And, with this basket on his arm, the Lad 
Went up to London, found a Master there, 
Who, out of many, chose the trusty Boy 

265 To go and overlook his merchandise 

Beyond the seas: where he grew wondrous rich, 
And left estates and monies to the poor, 
And, at his birth-place, built a Chapel floored 
With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. 



MICHAEL 6l 

270 These thoughts, and many others of like sort, 
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, 
And her face brightened. The Old Man was glad, 
And thus resumed: — "Well, Isabel! this scheme, 
These two days, has been meat and drink to me. 

275 Far more than we have lost is left us yet. 
We have enough — I wish indeed that I 
Were younger, — but this hope is a good hope. 
— Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best 
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 

280 To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: 
—If he could go, the Boy should go to-night." 
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth 
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days 
Was restless morn and night, and all day long 

285 Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare 
Things needful for the journey of her son. 
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came 
To stop her in her work: for when she lay 
By Michael's side, she through the two last nights 

290 Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: 
And when they rose at morning she could see 
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon 
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves 
Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go: 

295 We have no other Child but thee to lose. 
None to remember — do not go away. 
For if thou leave thy Father he will die." 
The Youth made answer with a jocund voice; 
And Isabel, when she had told her fears, 



62 NARRATIVE POEMS 

300 Recovered heart. That evening her best fare 
Did she bring forth, and all together sat 
Like happy people round a Christmas fire. 

With daylight Isabel resumed her work; 
And all the ensuing week the house appeared 

305 As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length 
The expected letter from their Kinsman came, 
With kind assurances that he would do 
His utmost for the welfare of the Boy; 
To which, requests were added, that forthwith 

310 He might be sent to him. Ten times or more 
The letter was read over; Isabel 
Went forth to show it to the neighbors round; 
Nor was there at that time on English land 
A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 

315 Had to her house returned, the Old Man said, 
" He shall depart to-morrow." To this word 
The Housewife answered, talking much of things 
Which, if at such short notice he should go. 
Would surely be forgotten. But at length 

320 She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. 

Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head 
Ghyll, 
In that deep Valley, Michael had designed 
To build a Sheep-fold; and, before he heard 
The tidings of his melancholy loss, 
325 For this same purpose he had gathered up 

A heap of stones, which by the Streamlet's edge 



MICHAEL 63 

Lay thrown together, ready for the work. 
With Luke that evening thitherward he walked; 
And soon as they had reached the place he stopped 

330 And thus the Old Man spake to him: — "My Son, 
To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart 
I look upon thee, for thou art the same 
That wert a promise to me ere thy birth. 
And all thy life hast been my daily joy. 

335 I will relate to thee some little part 
Of our two histories; *twill do thee good 
^When thou art from me, even if I should speak 
Of things thou canst not know of. — After thou 
First camest into the world — as oft befalls 

340 To new-born infants — thou didst sleep away 
Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue 
Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on. 
And still I loved thee with increasing love. 
Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 

345 Than when I heard thee by our own fireside 
First uttering, without words, a natural tune; 
When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy 
Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month followed 

month. 
And in the open fields my life was passed 

350 And on the mountains; else I think that thou 
Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. 
But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills. 
As well thou knowest, in us the old and young 
Have played together, nor with me didst thou 

355 Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." 



64 NARRATIVE POEMS 

Luke had a manly heart; but at these words 

He sobbed aloud. The Old Man grasped his hand, 

And said, "Nay, do not take it so — I see 

That these are things of which I need not speak. 

360 — Even to the utmost I have been to thee 
A kind and a good Father: and herein 
I but repay a gift which I myself 
Received at others' hands; for, though now old 
Beyond the common life of man, I still 

365 Remember them who loved me in my youth. 
Both of them sleep together: here they lived, 
As all their Forefathers had done; and when 
At length their time was come, they were not loth 
To give their bodies to the family mould. 

370 I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived. 
But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, 
And see so little gain from threescore years. 
These fields were burthened when they came to 

me; 
Till I was forty years of age, not more 

375 Than half of my inheritance was mine. 

I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work. 
And till these three weeks past the land was free. 
— It looks as if it never could endure 
Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, 

380 If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good 

That thou shouldst go." At this the Old Man 

paused; 
Then, pointing to the Stones near which they 
stood, 



MICHAEL 65 

Thus, after a short silence, he resumed : 
**This was a work for us; and now, my Son, 

385 It is a work for me. But, lay one stone — 

Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands, 
Nay, Boy, be of good hope; — we both may live 
To see a better day. At eighty-four 
I still am strong and hale; — do thou thy part; 

390 I will do mine. — I will begin again 

With many tasks that were resigned to thee: 
Up to the heights, and in among the storms, 
Will I without thee go again, and do 
All works which I was wont to do alone, 

395 Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee. Boy! 
Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast 
With many hopes. — It should be so — Yes — yes — 
I knew that thou couldst never have a wish 
To leave me, Luke; thou hast been bound to me 

4cx> Only by links of love: when thou art gone 
What will be left to us! — But, I forget 
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, 
As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, 
When thou art gone away, should evil men 

40s Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, 
And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, 
And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear 
And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou 
Mayst bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, 

410 Who, being innocent, did for that cause 

Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well — 
When thou returnest, thou in this place wilt see 



66 NARRATIVE POEMS 

A work which is not here: a covenant 

'Twill be between us But, whatever fate 

415 Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, 

And bear thy memory with me to the grave." 

The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped 
down. 

And, as his Father had requested, laid 

The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight 
420 The Old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart 

He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept; 

And to the house together they returned. 

— Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming 
peace. 

Ere the night fell: — with morrow's dawn the Boy 
425 Began his journey, and when he had reached 

The public way, he put on a bold face; 

And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors, 

Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, 

That followed him till he was out of sight. 

430 A good report did from their Kinsman come, 
Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy 
Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, 
Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were through- 
out 
"The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 
435 Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. 
So, many months passed on: and once again 
The Shepherd went about his daily work 



MICHAEL 67 I 

I 

With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now | 

Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour ^ 

440 He to that valley took his way, and there I 

Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke 

began j 

To slacken in his duty; and, at length ] 

He in the dissolute city gave himself 

To evil courses: ignominy and shame 
445 Fell on him, so that he was driven at last j 

To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. < 

There is a comfort in the strength of love; i 

*Twill make a thing endurable, which else , 

Would overset the brain, or break the heart: ' 

450 I have conversed with more than one who well 
Remember the Old Man, and what he was 
Years after he had heard this heavy news. / 

His bodily frame had been from youth to age 
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks j 

455 He went, and still looked up towards the sun, • 

And listened to the wind; and, as before. 
Performed all kinds of labor for his Sheep, i 

And for the land his small inheritance. 
And to that hollow Dell from time to time 

460 Did he repair, to build the Fold of which : 

His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet 
The pity which was then in every heart i 

For the Old Man — and 'tis believed by all ; 

That many and many a day he thither went, j 

465 And never lifted up a single stone. 



68 NARRATIVE POEMS 

There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he 
seen 
Sitting alone, with that his faithful Dog, 
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. 
The length of full seven years, from time to time, 
470 He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, 
And left the work unfinished when he died. 
Three years, or little more, did Isabel 
Survive her Husband: at her death the estate 
Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 
475 The Cottage which was named the Evening Star 
Is gone — the ploughshare has been through the 

ground 
On which it stood; great changes have been 

wrought 
In all the neighborhood : — yet the Oak is left 
That grew beside their door; and the remains 
480 Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen 

Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. 



Ill 

LYRICAL POEMS 
"MY HEART LEAPS UP" 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A Rainbow in the sky: 
So was it when my life began; 
So is it now I am a Man; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die! 
The Child is Father of the Man; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 



69 



TO A BUTTERFLY 

Stay near me — do not take thy flight! 
A little longer stay in sight! 
Much converse do I find in Thee, 
Historian of my Infancy! 
s Float near me; do not yet depart! 
Dead times revive in thee: 
Thou bring'st, gay Creature as thou art! 
A solemn image to my heart, 
My Father's Family! 

lo Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, 

The time, when, in our childish plays. 

My Sister Emmeline and I 

Together chased the Butterfly! 

A very hunter did I rush 
15 Upon the prey: — ^with leaps and springs 

I followed on from brake to bush; 

But she, God love her! feared to brush 

The dust from off its wings. 



70 



WRITTEN IN MARCH 

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF 
BROTHER'S WATER 

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 

TKTsiTraiWxLcik-twirfeiT^ 

The lake doth gHtter, 
s The green field sleeps in the sun; 

The oldest and youngest 

Are at work with the strongest; 

The cattle are grazing, 

Their heads never raising; 
lo There are forty feeding like one! 

Like an army defeated 

The Snow hath retreated. 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill; 
15 The Ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon: 

There's joy in the mountains; 

There's life in the fountains; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue sky prevailing; 
20 The rain is over and gone! 



71 



TO THE DAISY 

In youth from rock to rock I went, 
From hill to hill in discontent 
Of pleasure high and turbulent, 

Most pleased when most uneasy; 
5 But now my own delights I make, — 
My thirst at every rill can slake. 
And gladly Nature's love partake 
Of thee, sweet Daisy! 

Thee Winter in the garland wears 
lo That thinly decks his few grey hairs; 
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, 

That she may sun thee; 
Whole summer-fields are thine by right; 
And Autumn, melancholy wight! 
15 Doth in thy crimson head delight 
When rains are on thee. 

In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
Thou greet 'st the traveler in the lane, 
Pleased at his greeting thee again; 
20 Yet nothing daunted, 

72 



TO THE DAISY 73 

Nor grieved, if thou be set at nought: 
And oft alone in nooks remote 
We meet thee, Hke a pleasant thought, 
When such are wanted. 

25 Be violets in their secret mews 

The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; 
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 

Her head impearling. 
Thou liv*st with less ambitious aim, 
30 Yet hast not gone without thy fame; 
Thou art indeed by many a claim 
The Poet's darling. 

If to a rock from rains he fly, 
Or, some bright day of April sky, 

35 Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie 
Near the green holly, 
And wearily at length should fare; 
He needs but look about, and there 
Thou art! — a friend at hand, to scare 

40 His melancholy. 

A hundred times, by rock or bower. 
Ere thus I have lain crouched an hour, 
Have I derived from thy sweet power 

Some apprehension; 
45 Some steady love; some brief delight; 
Some memory that had taken flight; 
Some chime of fancy wrong or right; 

Or stray invention. 



74 LYRICAL POEMS 

If Stately passions in me burn, I 
so And one chance look to Thee should turn, 
I drink out of an humbler urn 

A lowlier pleasure; * 

The homely sympathy that heeds '^ 

The common life our nature breeds; ] 

55 A wisdom fitted to the needs j 

Of hearts at leisure. ■' 

i 

Fresh smitten by the morning ray, i 
When thou art up, alert and gay, 
Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play 

60 With kindred gladness: 1 

And when, at dusk, by dews opprest I 

Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest 1 
Hath often eased my pensive breast 

Of careful sadness. , 

1 

6s And all day long I number yet, I 

All seasons through, another debt, 1 

Which I, wherever thou art met, ) 

To thee am owing; 1 

An instinct call it, a blind sense; i 

70 A happy, genial influence, ] 

Coming one knows not how, nor whence, j 

Nor whither going. | 

Child of the Year! that round dost run 
Thy course, bold lover of the sun, 
75 And cheerful when the day*s begun 
As lark or leveret, 



TO THE DAISY 75 

Thy long-lost praise ^ thou shalt regain; 
Nor be less dear to future men 
Than in old time; — thou not in vain 
80 Art Nature's favorite. 

" 1 See in Chaucer and the older poets, the honors formerly 
paid to the daisy. — Wordsworth. 



TO THE SMALL CELANDINE ^ 

Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, 
Let them live upon their praises; 
Long as there's a sun that sets, 
Primroses will have their glory; 
5 Long as there are Violets, 

They will have a place in story: 
There's a flower that shall be mine, 
'Tis the little Celandine. 

Eyes of some men travel far 

lo For the finding of a star; 

Up and down the heavens they go. 
Men that keep a mighty rout! 
I'm as great as they, I trow. 
Since the day I found thee out, 

15 Little flower! — I'll make a stir, 
Like a great astronomer. 

Modest, yet withal an Elf 
Bold, and lavish of thyself; 
Since we needs must first have met 
20 I have seen thee, high and low. 
Thirty years or more, and yet 
'Twas a face I did not know; 
Thou hast now, go where I may, 
Fifty greetings in a day. 

1 Common pilewort. — ^Wordsworth. 
76 



TO THE SMALL CELANDINE 77 

25 Ere a leaf is on a bush, 

In the time before the Thrush 
Has a thought about her nest, 
Thou wilt come with half a call, 
Spreading out thy glossy breast 

30 Like a careless prodigal; 
Telling tales about the sun, 
When weVe little warmth, or none. 

Poets, vain men in their mood! 

Travel with the multitude: 
35 Never heed them; I aver 

That they all are wanton wooers; 

But the thrifty Cottager, 

Who stirs little out of doors, 

Joys to spy thee near her home; 
40 Spring is coming. Thou art come! 

Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
Kindly, unassuming Spirit! 
Careless of thy neighborhood, 
Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
45 On the moor, and in the wood, 
In the lane — there's not a place. 
Howsoever mean it be. 
But 'tis good enough for thee. 

Ill befall the yellow Flowers, 
50 Children of the flaring hours! 



78 LYRICAL POEMS I 

i 

Buttercups, that will be seen, J 

Whether we will see or no; ■ 
Others, too, of lofty mien; 

They have done as worldings do, j 

55 Taken praise that should be thine, i 
Little, humble Celandine! 



^I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD" 

I WANDERED loncly as a Cloud 
That floats on high o*er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden Dafl^odils; 
5 Beside the Lake, beneath the trees. 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way. 
They stretched in never-ending line 
lo Along the margin of a bay: 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: — 
IS A poet could not but be gay. 
In such a jocund company; 
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
20 In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude. 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the DaflPodils. 
79 



TO A SKYLARK 

Up with me! up with me into the clouds! 

For thy song, Lark, is strong; 
Up with me, up with me into the clouds! 
Singing, singing, 
5 With clouds and sky about thee ringing. 
Lift me, guide me till I find 
That spot which seems so to thy mind! 

I have walked through wildernesses dreary, 

And to-day my heart is weary; 
lo Had I now the wings of a Faery, 

Up to thee would I fly. 

There's madness about thee, and joy divine 

In that song of thine; 

Lift me, guide me high and high 
IS To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 

Joyous as morning. 
Thou art laughing and scorning; 
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, 
And, though little troubled with sloth, 

20 Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 
To be such a traveler as L 
Happy, happy Liver, 

With a soul as strong as a mountain River 
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, 

25 Joy and jollity be with us both! 

80 



TO A SKYLARK 8 1 

Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, 
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind 
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, 
As full of gladness and as free of heaven, 
30 I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 

And hope for higher raptures, when Life's day is 
done. 



EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY 

"Why, William, on that old grey stone, 
Thus for the length of half a day, 
Why, William, sit you thus alone. 
And dream your time away? 

5 "Where are your books? — that light bequeathed 
To beings else forlorn and blind! 
Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed 
From dead men to their kind. 

"You look round on your mother Earth, 
lo As if she for no purpose bore you; 
As if you were her first-born birth, 
And none had lived before you!" 

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, 
When life was sweet, I knew not why, 
IS To me my good friend Matthew spake. 
And thus I made reply: 

"The eye — it cannot choose but see; 
We cannot bid the ear be still; 
Our bodies feel, where'er they be, 
20 Against, or with our will. 
82 



EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY 83 

"Nor less I deem that there are Powers 
Which of themselves our minds impress; I 

That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness. 

J 

25" Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum ; 

Of things for ever speaking, i 

That nothing of itself will come, ' 

But we must still be seeking? ! 

1 
" — ^Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, i 

30 Conversing as I may, 

I sit upon this old grey stone, 
And dream my time away." 



THE TABLES TURNED 
AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT 

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; 
Or surely you'll grow double: 
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; 
Why all this toil and trouble? 

s The sun, above the mountain's head, 
A freshening luster mellow 
Through all the long green fields has spread, 
His first sweet evening yellow. 

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: 
lo Come, hear the woodland Linnet, 
How sweet his music! on my life, 
There's more of wisdom in it. 

And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings! 
He, too, is no mean preacher: 
15 Come forth into the light of things, 
Let Nature be your teacher. 

She has a world of ready wealth, 
Our minds and hearts to bless — 
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
20 Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 
84 



THE TABLES TURNED 85 

] 

One impulse from a vernal wood ^ 

May teach you more of man, ■ 

Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can. i 

25 Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 

Our meddling intellect i 

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: 

— We murder to dissect. ! 



Enough of Science and of Art; 

1 



30 Close up these barren leaves: 



Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives. 



TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE 
SIX YEARS OLD 

O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; 

Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, 

And fittest to unutterable thought 

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; 
5 Thou faery Voyager! that dost float 

In such clear water, that thy boat 

May rather seem 

To brood on air than on an earthy stream; 

Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, 
lo Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 

blessed Vision! happy Child! 
That art so exquisitely wild, 

1 think of thee with many fears 

For what may be thy lot in future years. 

15 I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest. 
Lord of thy house and hospitality; 
And Grief, uneasy Lover! never rest 
But when she sate within the touch of thee. 
O too industrious folly! 

20 O vain and causeless melancholy! 
Nature will either end thee quite; 
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, 
Preserve for thee, by individual right, 
A young Lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. 
86 



TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE 87 

25 What hast Thou to do with sorrow, 

Or the injuries of to-morrow? 

Thou art a Dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, 

111 fitted to sustain unkindly shocks; 

Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; 
30 A gem that glitters while it lives, 

And no forewarning gives; 

But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife 

Slips in a moment out of life. 



"O NIGHTINGALE, THOU SURELY ART" 

nightingale! thou surely art 
A Creature of a fiery heart; — 

These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce; 

Tumultuous harmony and fierce! 
5 Thou sing'st as if the God of wine 

Had helped thee to a Valentine; 

A song in mockery and despite 

Of shades, and dews, and silent night; 

And steady bliss, and all the loves 
lo Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. 

1 heard a Stock-dove sing or say 
His homely tale, this very day; 
His voice was buried among trees, 
Yet to be come at by the breeze: 

IS He did not cease; but cooed — and cooed; 

And somewhat pensively he wooed : 

He sang of love, with quiet blending. 

Slow to begin, and never ending; 

Of serious faith, and inward glee; 
20 That was the Song — ^the Song for me! 



88 



"STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I 
KNOWN" 

Strange fits of passion have I known: 
And I will dare to tell, 
But in the Lover's ear alone, 
What once to me befel. 

s When she I loved was strong and gay, 
And like a rose in June, 
I to her cottage bent my way, 
Beneath the evening Moon. 

Upon the Moon I fixed my eye, 
lo All over the wide lea; 

My Horse trudged on — and we drew nigh 
Those paths so dear to me. 

And now we reached the orchard plot; 
And, as we climbed the hill, 
15 Towards the roof of Lucy's cot 
The Moon descended still. 

In one of those sweet dreams I slept, 
Kind Nature's gentlest boon! 
And all the while my eyes I kept 
20 On the descending Moon. 
89 



90 LYRICAL POEMS 

My Horse moved on; hoof after hoof 
He raised, and never stopped: 
When down behind the cottage roof. 
At once, the bright Moon dropped. 

25 What fond and wayward thoughts will sHde 
Into a Lover's head! — 
"O mercy!" to myself I cried, 
"IfLucy should be dead!" 



"THREE YEARS SHE GREW** 

Three years she grew in sun and shower. 
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower 
On earth was never sown; 
This Child I to myself will take; 
5 She shall be mine, and I will make 
A Lady of my own. 

"Myself will to my darling be 
Both law and impulse: and with me 
The Girl, in rock and plain, 
lo In earth and heaven, in glade and bower. 
Shall feel an overseeing power 
To kindle or restrain. 

"She shall be sportive as the Fawn 
That wild with glee across the lawn 
15 Or up the mountain springs; 

And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
And hers the silence and the calm 
Of mute insensate* things. 

"The floating Clouds their state shall lend 
20 To her; for her the willow bend; 
Nor shall she fail to see 
Even in the motions of the Storm 
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form 
By silent sympathy. 
91 



92 LYRICAL POEMS 

25 "The Stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her; and she shall lean her ear 
In many a secret place 

Where Rivulets dance their wayward round, 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

30 Shall pass into her face. 

And vital feelings of delight 
Shall rear her form to stately height, 
Her virgin bosom swell; 
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
35 While she and I together live 
Here in this happy Dell.'* 

Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
How soon my Lucy's race was run! 
She died, and left to me 
40 This heath, this calm and quiet scene; 
The memory of what has been, 
And never more will be. 



SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN ' 
WAYS" 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways j 

Beside the springs of Dove, 
A Maid whom there were none to praise 

And very few to love: ! 

■1 

s A Violet by a mossy stone 

Half hidden from the eye! ! 

— Fair as a star, when only one ,\ 

Is shining in the sky. I 

j 

She lived unknown, and few could know j 

lo When Lucy ceased to be; \ 

But she is in her grave, and, oh, 

The difference to me! ^ 



93 



''A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL" ' 

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; 

I had no human fears: | 

She seemed a thing that could not feel i 

The touch of earthly years. j 

i 

5 No motion has she now, no force; \ 

She neither hears nor sees, ] 

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, * 

With rocks, and stones, and trees. \ 



94 



I TRAVELED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN" 

I TRAVELED among unknown men, 

In lands beyond the sea; 
Nor, England ! did I know till then 

What love I bore to thee. 

5 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 
Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time; for still I seem 
To love thee more and more. 

Among thy mountains did I feel 
lo The joy of my desire; 

And she I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an English fire. 

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed 
The bowers where Lucy played; 
15 And thine is too the last green field 
That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 



95 



TO THE CUCKOO 

BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, 

1 hear thee and rejoice. 

Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, 
Or but a wandering Voice? 

s While I am lying on the grass 
Thy twofold shout I hear; 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
At once far off and near. 

Though babbling only, to the Vale, 
lo Of sunshine and of flowers, 
Thou bringest unto me a tale 
Of visionary hours. 

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! 
Even yet thou art to me 
15 No Bird: but an invisible Thing, 
A voice, a mystery; 

The same whom in my School-boy days 

1 listened to; that Cry 

Which made me look a thousand ways 
20 In bush, and tree, and sky. 
96 



TO THE CUCKOO 97 

To seek thee did I often rove 
Through woods and on the green; 
And thou wert still a hope, a love; 
Still longed for, never seen. 

25 And I can listen to thee yet; 
Can lie upon the plain 
And listen, till I do beget 
That golden time again. 

O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 
30 Again appears to be 

An unsubstantial faery place; 
That is fit home for Thee! 



TO A SKYLARK 

Ethereal Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky! 
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
5 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
Those quivering wings composed, that music still! 

To the last point of vision, and beyond. 
Mount, daring Warbler! that love-prompted strain, 
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) 
lo Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: 
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing 
All independent of the leafy spring. 

Leave to the Nightingale her shady wood; 
A privacy of glorious light is thine; 
IS Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
Of harmony, with instinct more divine; 
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; 
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! 



*SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT" 

She was a Phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight; 

A lovely Apparition, sent 

To be a moment's ornament; 
5 Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; 

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 

But all things else about her drawn 

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; 

A dancing Shape, an Image gay, 
lo To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty; 
IS A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A Creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
20 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine; 
A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A Traveler between life and death; 

99 



lOO LYRICAL POEMS 

25 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 
A perfect Woman, nobly planned. 
To warn, to comfort, and command; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 

30 With something of an angel light. 



THE SOLITARY REAPER 

Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland Lass! 
Reaping and singing by herself; 
Stop here, or gently pass! 
s Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain; 
O listen! for the Vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

No Nightingale did ever chant 
lo So sweetly to reposing bands 

Of Travelers in some shady haunt. 

Among Arabian sands: 

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 

In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, 
15 Breaking the silence of the seas 

Among the farthest Hebrides. 

Will no one tell me what she sings? 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-ofF things, 
20 And battles long ago: 

Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
That has been, and may be again! 

lOI 



I02 LYRICAL POEMS 

25 Whatever the theme, the Maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 
I saw her singing at her work, 
And o'er the sickle bending; — 
I listened till I had my fill, 

30 And when I mounted up the hill. 
The music in my heart I bore, 
Long after it was heard no more. 



YARROW UNVISITED 

(See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the Banks 
of the Yarrow ; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, 
beginning 

"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow !" — ) 

From Stirling Castle we had seen 
The mazy Forth unraveled; 
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had traveled; 
5 And when we came to Clovenford, 
Then said my ^* winsome Marrow" 
"Whatever betide, we'll turn aside, 
And see the Braes of Yarrow." 

"Let Yarrow Folk, frae Selkirk Town, 
lo Who have been buying, selling, 

Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own; 

Each Maiden to her Dwelling! 

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 

Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! 
IS But we will downward with the Tweed, 

Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 

"There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 
Both lying right before us; 
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 
20 The Lintwhites sing in chorus; 
103 



I04 LYRICAL POEMS 

There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
Made blithe with plough and harrow: 
Why throw away a needful day 
To go in search of Yarrow ? 

25 "What's Yarrow but a River bare, 

That glides the dark hills under? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder." 

— Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; 
30 My True-love sighed for sorrow; 

And looked me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yarrow! 

"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's Holms, 

And sweet is Yarrow's flowing! 
35 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,^ 

But we will leave it growing. 

O'er hilly path, and open Strath, 

We'll wander Scotland thorough; 

But, though so near, we will not turn 
40 Into the Dale of Yarrow. 

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; 
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow! 
45 We will not see them; will not go, 

I See Hamiltons's Ballad as above. 



YARROW UNVISITED IO5 

To-day, nor yet to-morrow; 
Enough if in our hearts we know 
There's such a place as Yarrow. 

"Be Yarrow Stream unseen, unknown! 
so It must, or we shall rue it: 

We have a vision of our own; 

Ah! why should we undo it? 

The treasured dreams of times long past, 

We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! 
55 For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 

'Twill be another Yarrow. 

"If Care with freezing years should come. 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loth to stir from home, 
60 And yet be melancholy; 

Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow, 
That earth has something yet to show, 
The bonny Holms of Yarrow!" 



YARROW VISITED 
SEPTEMBER, 1814 

And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream 
Of which my fancy cherished, 
So faithfully, a waking dream? 
An image that hath perished! 
5 O that some Minstrel's harp were near. 
To utter notes of gladness, 
And chase this silence from the air. 
That fills my heart with sadness! 

Yet why? — a silvery current flows 
10 With uncontrolled meanderings; 

Nor have these eyes by greener hills 

Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 

And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake 

Is visibly delighted; 
IS For not a feature of those hills 

Is in the mirror slighted. 

A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale. 
Save where that pearly whiteness 
Is round the rising sun diffused, 
20 A tender hazy brightness; 

Mild dawn of promise! that excludes 
All profitless dejection; 
Though not unwilling here to admit 
A pensive recollection. 
106 



YARROW VISITED IO7 

25 Where was it that the famous Flower 

Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? 

His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 

On which the herd is feeding: 

And happy from this crystal pool, 
30 Now peaceful as the morning, 

The Water-wraith ascended thrice — 

And gave his doleful warning. 

Delicious is the Lay that sings 
The haunts of happy Lovers, 

35 The path that leads them to the grove, 
The leafy grove that covers: 
And Pity sanctifies the verse 
That paints, by strength of sorrow, 
The unconquerable strength of love; 

40 Bear witness, rueful Yarrow! 

But thou, that didst appear so fair 
To fond imagination. 
Dost rival in the light of day 
Her delicate creation: 
45 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 
A softness still and holy; 
The grace of forest charms decayed. 
And pastoral melancholy. 

That Region left, the Vale unfolds 
so Rich groves of lofty stature. 

With Yarrow winding through the pomp 
Of cultivated nature; 



I08 LYRICAL POEMS 

And, rising from those lofty groves, 
Behold a Ruin hoary! 
55 The shattered front of Newark's Towers, 
Renowned in Border story. 

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom. 
For sportive youth to stray in; 
For manhood to enjoy his strength; 
60 And age to wear away in ! 

Yon Cottage seems a bower of bliss, 
A covert for protection 
Of tender thoughts that nestle there, 
The brood of chaste affection. 

65 How sweet, on this autumnal day. 
The wild-wood fruits to gather, 
And on my True-love's forehead plant 
A crest of blooming heather! 
And what if I enwreathed my own ! 

70 Twere no offence to reason; 

The sober Hills thus deck their brows 
To meet the wintry season. 

I see — but not by sight alone, 

Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; 
75 A ray of Fancy still survives — 

Her sunshine plays upon thee! 

Thy ever-youthful waters keep 

A course of lively pleasure; 

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe, 
80 Accordant to the measure. 



YARROW VISITED IO9 

The vapors linger around the Heights, 
They melt — and soon must vanish; 
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
Sad thought, which I would banish, 
85 But that I know, wher'er I go, 
Thy genuine image. Yarrow! 
Will dwell with me — to heighten joy. 
And cheer my mind in sorrow. 



YARROW REVISITED 

[The following Stanzas are a memorial of a day spent with Sir 
Walter Scott, and other Friends visiting the Banks of the 
Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure 
from Abbotsford for Naples.] 

The gallant Youth, who may have gained, 

Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow," 
Was but an infant in the lap 

When first I looked on Yarrow; 
5 Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate 

Long left without a warder, 
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, 

Great Minstrel of the Border! 



Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, 
lo Their dignity installing 

In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 

Were on the bough, or falling; 
But breezes played, and sunshine gleamed — 
The forest to embolden; 
15 Reddened the fiery hues, and shot 
Transparence through the golden. 

For busy thoughts the Stream flowed on 

In foamy agitation; 
And slept in many a crystal pool 
20 For quiet contemplation: 



YARROW REVISITED III 

No public and no private care 

The freeborn mind enthralling, 
We made a day of happy hours, 

Our happy days recalling. 

25 Brisk Youth appeared, the Morn of youth. 
With freaks of graceful folly — 
Life's Temperate Noon, her sober Eve, 

Her Night not melancholy; 
Past, present, future, all appeared 
30 In harmony united. 

Like guests that meet, and some from far. 
By cordial love invited. 

And {(y as Yarrow, through the woods 
And down the meadow ranging, 
35 Did meet us with unaltered face. 

Though we were changed and changing; 
If, theuy some natural shadows spread 

Our inward prospect over. 
The soul's deep valley was not slow 
40 Its brightness to recover. 

Eternal blessings on the Muse, 

And her divine employment! 
The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons 

For hope and calm enjoyment; 
45 Albeit sickness, lingering yet. 

Has o'er their pillow brooded; 
And Care waylays their steps — a Sprite 

Not easily eluded. 



112 LYRICAL POEMS 

For thee, O Scott! compelled to change 
50 Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 
For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes, 
And leave thy Tweed and Teviot 
For mild Sorrento's breezy waves; 
May classic Fancy, linking 
55 With native Fancy her fresh aid, 
Preserve thy heart from sinking! 

O! while they minister to thee, 
Each vying with the other. 

May Health return to mellow Age 
60 With Strength her venturous brother; 

And Tiber, and each brook and rill 
Renowned in song and story, 

With unimagined beauty shine, 
Nor lose one ray of glory! 

6s For Thou, upon a hundred streams. 
By tales of love and sorrow. 
Of faithful love, undaunted truth, 
Hast shed the power of Yarrow; 
And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 
70 Wherever they invite Thee, 
At parent Nature's grateful call. 
With gladness must requite Thee. 

A gracious welcome shall be thine. 
Such looks of love and honor 
75 As thy own Yarrow gave to me 
When first I gazed upon her; 



YARROW REVISITED II3 j 

Beheld what I had feared to see, 

Unwilling to surrender 
Dreams treasured up from early days, ' 

80 The holy and the tender. i 

And what, for this frail world, were all 1 

That mortals do or suffer, \ 

Did no responsive harp, no pen, \ 

Memorial tribute offer? \ 

8s Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? J 

Her features, could they win us, 
Unhelped by the poetic voice 

That hourly speaks within us ? 

Nor deem that localized Romance ' 

go Plays false with our affections; ■ 

Unsanctifies our tears — made sport j 

For fanciful dejections: j 

Oh, no! the visions of the past ! 

Sustain the heart in feeling .' 

95 Life as she is — our changeful Life, j 

With friends and kindred dealing. 

Bear witness. Ye, whose thoughts that day 

In Yarrow's groves were centered; 
Who through the silent portal arch 
loo Of mouldering Newark enter'd; j 

And clomb the winding stair that once i 

Too timidly was mounted i 

By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!) 

Ere he his Tale recounted, ' 



114 LYRICAL POEMS 

105 Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! 
Fulfil thy pensive duty, 
Well pleased that future Bards should chant 

For simple hearts thy beauty; 
To dream-light dear while yet unseen, 
no Dear to the common sunshine, 
And dearer still, as now I feel. 

To memory's shadowy moonshine! 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS 

1803 
SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH 

I SHIVER, Spirit fierce and bold, 

At thought of what I now behold : 

As vapors breathed from dungeons cold 

Strike pleasure dead, 
s So sadness comes from out the mould 

Where Burns is laid. 

And have I then thy bones so near, 
And thou forbidden to appear? 
As if it were thyself that's here 
10 I shrink with pain; 

And both my wishes and my fear 
Alike are vain. 

OfF weight — nor press on weight! — away 
Dark thoughts! — they came, but not to stay; 
IS With chastened feelings would I pay 

The tribute due 
To him, and aught that hides his clay 

From mortal view. 

Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth 
20 He sang, his genius "glinted" forth. 
Rose like a star that touching earth. 

For so it seems. 
Doth glorify its humble birth 

With matchless beams. 

"5 



Il6 LYRICAL POEMS 

25 The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow. 
The stuggHng heart, where be they now? — 
Full soon the Aspirant of the plough, 

The prompt, the brave. 
Slept, with the obscurest, in the low 

30 And silent grave. 

Well might I mourn that He was gone, 
Whose light I hail'd when first it shone 
When, breaking forth as nature's own, 
It showed my youth 
35 How Verse may build a princely throne 
On humble truth. 

Alas! where'er the current tends. 
Regret pursues and with it blends, — 
Huge CrifFeFs hoary top ascends 
40 By Skiddaw seen, — • 

Neighbors we were, and loving friends 
We might have been: 

True friends though diversely inclined; 
But heart with heart and mind with mind, 
45 Where the main fibers are entwined. 

Through Nature's skill. 
May even by contraries be joined 

More closely still. 

The tear will start, and let it flow; 
so Thou "poor Inhabitant below," 



AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS II7 ! 

At this dread moment — even so — 

Might we together 
Have sate and talked v^here gowans blow, j 

Or on wild heather. j 

] 

55 What treasures would have then been placed 
Within my reach ; of knowledge graced 
By fancy what a rich repast! I 

But why go on ? — ' 

Oh ! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast, ^ 

60 His grave grass-grown. ; 

i 

There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, • 

(Not three weeks past the Stripling died,) ] 

Lies gathered to his Father's side, ! 

Soul-moving sight! i 
65 Yet one to which is not denied 

Some sad delight. 

For he is safe, a quiet bed 
Hath early found among the dead, 
Harbored where none can be misled, ' 

70 Wronged, or distrest; ] 

And surely here it may be said j 

That such are blest. 

And oh for Thee, by pitying grace ] 

Checked oft-times in a devious race, i 



Il8 LYRICAL POEMS 

75 May He, who halloweth the place 
Where Man is laid, 
Receive thy Spirit in the embrace 
For which it prayed! 

Sighing I turned away; but ere 
80 Night fell, I heard, or seemed to hear, 
Music that sorrow comes not near, 

A ritual hymn, 
Chaunted in love that casts out fear 

By Seraphim. 



IV 

POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND 
ODES 

LAODAMEIA 

"With sacrifice, before the rising morn 
Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required; 
And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn. 
Him of the infernal Gods have I desired: 
5 Celestial pity I again implore: — 

Restore him to rny sight — great Jove, restore!" 

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed 

With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her 

hands; 
While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, 
lo Her countenance brightens — and her eye expands; 
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows; 
And she expects the issue in repose. 

O terror! what hath she perceived? — O joy! 
What doth she look on ? — whom doth she behold ? 
15 Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy? 
His vital presence? his corporeal mould? 
It is — if sense deceive her not — *tis He! 
And a God leads him, winged Mercury! 
119 



I20 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Mild Hermes spake — and touched her with his 

wand 
20 That calms all fear: "Such grace hath crowned 

thy prayer, 
Laodameia! that at Jove's command 
Thy husband walks the paths of upper air: 
He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space: 
Accept the gift, behold him face to face!" 

25 Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord 
to clasp: 
Again that consummation she essayed: 
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 
As often as that eager grasp was made. 
The Phantom parts — but parts to re-unite, 

30 And re-assume his place before her sight. 

"Protesilaos, lo! thy guide is gone! 
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice: 
This is our palace, — yonder is thy throne; 
Speak, and the floor thou tread 'st on will rejoice. 
35 Not to appal me have the Gods bestowed 
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode." 

"Great Jove, Laodameia! doth not leave 
His gifts imperfect: — Specter though I be, 
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive; 
40 But in reward of thy fidelity. 

And something also did my worth obtain; 
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 



LAODAMEIA 121 

:l 
"Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold ! 

That the first Greek who touched the Trojan 

strand I 

45 Should die; but me the threat could not withhold : | 

A generous cause a victim did demand; 

And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain; 

A self-devoted chief — by Hector slain." \ 

"Supreme of heroes — bravest, noblest, best! \ 

50 Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 

Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest 
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore; 
Thou found 'st — and I forgive thee — here thou j 

art — ' 

A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. ! 

55 " But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 

Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave; ' 

And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed 
That thou should'st cheat the malice of the grave: 
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair ; 

60 As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. i 

"No Specter greets me — no vain Shadow this; \ 

Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side! \ 

Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss I 

To me, this day, a second time thy bride!" j 

65 Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcae ' 

threw l 

Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. I 



122 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

*'This visage tells thee that my doom is past: 
Know, virtue were not virtue, if the joys 
Of sense were able to return as fast 
70 And surely as they vanish. — Earth destroys 
Those raptures duly — Erebus disdains: 
Calm pleasures there abide — majestic pains. 

" Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve 
75 The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul; 
A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn 
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn " 

*'Ah, wherefore.? — Did not Hercules by force 
80 Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb 
Alcestis, a reanimated corse. 
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom.? 
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, 
And iEson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. 

85 **The Gods to us are merciful — and they 
Yet further may relent: for mightier far 
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the 

sway 
Of magic potent over sun and star, 
Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 
90 And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's 
breast. 



LAODAMEIA 123 

"But if thou goest, I follow ""Peace!" he 

said. — 
She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered; 
The ghastly color from his lips had fled; 
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared 
95 Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. 

Brought from a pensive though a happy place. 

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
In worlds whose course is equable and pure; 
No fears to beat away — no strife to heal — 
loo The past unsigh'd for, and the future sure; 
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
Revived, with finer harmony pursued; 

Of all that is most beauteous — imaged there 
In happier beauty: more pellucid streams, 
105 An ampler ether, a diviner air, 

And fields invested with purpureal gleams; 
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day 
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 

Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned 
no That privilege by virtue. — "111," said he, 
"The end of man's existence I discerned. 
Who from ignoble games and revelry 
Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight, 
While tears were thy best pastime, day and night; 

115 "And while my youthful peers before my eyes 
(Each hero following his peculiar bent) 



124 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
By martial sports, — or, seated in the tent. 
Chieftains and kings in counsel were detained; 
I20 What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 

"The wished-for wind was given: — I then revolved 
The oracle, upon the silent sea; 
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be 

125 The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, — 
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. 

"Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang 
When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife! 
On thee too fondly did my memory hang, 
130 And on the joys we shared in mortal life, — 

The paths which we have trod — these fountains, 

flowers; 
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. 

"But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
* Behold they tremble! — haughty their array 
135 Yet of their number no one dares to die' f 
In soul I swept the indignity away: 
Old frailties then recurred: — but lofty thought, 
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 

"And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak; 
140 In reason, in self-government too slow; 
I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 
Our blest re-union in the shades below. 



LAODAMEIA 1 25 

The invisible world with thee hath sympathised; 
Be thy affections raised and solemnised. 

145 Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend — 
Towards a higher object. — Love was given. 
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end; 
For this the passion to excess was driven — 
That self might be annulled: her bondage prove 

150 The fetters of a dream, opposed to love." 

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears! 
Round the dear Shade she would have clung — 

'tis vain 
The hours are past — too brief had they been 

years — 
And him no mortal effort can detain: 
155 Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly 

day, 
He through the portal takes his silent way. 
And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. 

Ah, judge her gently who so deeply loved! 
Her, who in reason's spite, yet without crime, 
160 Was in a trance of passion thus removed; 
Delivered from the galling yoke of time 
And these frail elements — to gather flowers 
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 

— ^Yet tears to human suffering are due; 
165 And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 



126 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Are mourned by man, and not by man alone, 
As fondly he believes. — Upon the side 
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained) 
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 

170 From out the tomb of him for whom she died; 
And ever, when such stature they had gained 
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. 
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight: 
A constant interchange of growth and blight! 



CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR 

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he 
That every man in arms should wish to be? 

It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought 

Among the tasks of real Hfe, hath wrought 

5 Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought: 
Whose high endeavors are an inward light 
That makes the path before him always bright: 
Who, with a natural instinct to discern 
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; 

lo Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, 
But makes his moral being his prime care; 
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, 
And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! 
Turns his necessity to glorious gain; 

15 In face of these doth exercise a power 

Which is our human nature^s highest dower; 
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves 
Of their bad influence, and their good receives: 
By objects, which might force the soul to abate 

20 Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; 
Is placable — because occasions rise 
So often that demand such sacrifice; 
More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, 
As tempted more; more able to endure, 

25 As more exposed to suffering and distress; 
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. 
127 



128 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

— 'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends 
Upon that law as on the best of friends; 
Whence, in a state where men are tempted still 

30 To evil for a guard against worse ill, 
And what in quality or act is best 
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, 
He fixes good on good alone, and owes 
To virtue every triumph that he knows: 

35 — Who, if he rise to station of command. 
Rises by open means; and there will stand 
On honorable terms, or else retire. 
And in himself possess his own desire; 
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same 

40 Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; 
And therefore does not stop, nor lie in wait 
For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state; 
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, 
Like showers of manna, if they come at all: 

45 Whose powers shed round him in the common 
strife. 
Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 
A constant influence, a peculiar grace; 
But who, if he be called upon to face 
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined 

50 Great issues, good or bad for human kind. 
Is happy as a lover; and attired 
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired; 
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law 
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; 

55 Or if an unexpected call succeed^ 



CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR 1 29 

Come when it will, is equal to the need : 

— He who though thus endued as with a sense 

And faculty for storm and turbulence, 

Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans 

60 To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; 
Sweet images! which, wheresoever he be, 
Are at his heart; and such fidelity 
It is his darling passion to approve; 
More brave for this, that he hath much to love: — 

65 *Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high. 
Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, 
Or left unthought-of in obscurity, — 
Who, with a toward or untoward lot, 
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not, 

70 Plays, in the many games of life, that one 

Where what he most doth value must be won: 
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, 
Nor thought of tender happiness betray; 
Who, not content that former worth stand fast, 

75 Looks forward, persevering to the last. 
From well to better, daily self-surpast: 
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth 
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth. 
Or he must go to dust without his fame, 

80 And leave a dead unprofitable name. 
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; 
And, while the mortal mist in gathering, draws 
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: 
This is the happy Warrior; this is he 

8s Whom every man in arms should wish to be, 



ODE TO DUTY \ 

"Jam non consillo bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum 
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim. " 

Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! ] 

O Duty! if that name thou love 
Who art a light to guide, a rod j 

To check the erring, and reprove; 1 

5 Thou, who art victory and law j 

When empty terrors overawe; i 

From vain temptations dost set free; 
And calmest the weary strife of frail humanity! 

There are who ask not if thine eye ^ 

lo Be on them; who, in love and truth, i 

Where no misgiving is, rely ^ 

Upon the genial sense of youth: ' 

Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; i 

Who do thy work, and know it not: i 
IS Long may the kindly impulse last! 

But Thou, if they should totter, teach them to j 
stand fast! 

! 

Serene will be our days and bright, 

And happy will our nature be, ; 

When love is an unerring light, I 

ao And joy its own security. | 

130 I 



ODE TO DUTY I3I 

And they a blissful course may hold 
Even now, who, not unwisely bold. 
Live in the spirit of this creed; y 

Yet seek thy firm support, according to their 'j 

need. 



25 I, loving freedom, and untried; 

No sport of every random gust, 

Yet being to myself a guide. 

Too blindly have reposed my trust; 

And oft, when in my heart was heard 
30 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 

The task, in smoother walks to stray; 

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 
Or strong compunction in me wrought, 

35 I supplicate for thy control; 
But in the quietness of thought: 
Me this unchartered freedom tires; 
I feel the weight of chance-desires: 
My hopes no more must change their name, 

40 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face: 
45 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds 
And fragrance in thy footing treads; 



132 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; ] 

And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, 1 

are fresh and strong. ! 

To humbler functions, awful Power! | 

so I call thee: I myself commend I 

Unto thy guidance from this hour; \ 

Oh, let my weakness have an end! 

Give unto me, made lowly wise, i 

The spirit of self-sacrifice; 
55 The confidence of reason give; 

And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! j 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 
FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD 



There was a time when meadow, grove, and 

stream, 
The earth, and every common sight, 
To me did seem 
Apparelled in celestial light. 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore; — 
Turn wheresoever I may, 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen I now can see no 
more. 

II 

The Rainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is the Rose; 

The Moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare; 

Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath past away a glory from the 
earth. 

133 



134 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 
III 

Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, 
20 And while the young Lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief: 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
And I again am strong: 
25 The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; 
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep. 
And all the earth is gay; 
30 Land and sea 

Give themselves up to jollity. 

And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday; — 
Thou child of joy, 
35 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou 
happy Shepherd-boy! 

IV 

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make; I see. 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; 
My heart is at your festival, 
40 My head hath its coronal. 

The fulness of your bliss, I feel^I feel it all. 
O evil day! if I were sullen 
While the Earth herself is adorning 

This sweet May-morning, ' 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY I35 

45 And the children are pulling 

On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, 
so And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm: — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 
— But there's a Tree, of many one, 
A single Field which I have looked upon. 
Both of them speak of something that is gone; 
55 The Pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat: 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 



Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 
60 The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting. 

And cometh from afar: 
Not in entire forgetfulness. 
And not in utter nakedness, 
65 But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
From God, who is our home: 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
Upon the growing Boy, 

70 But He beholds the light, and whence it flows 
He sees it in his joy; 
The Youth, who daily farther from the East 



136 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 
And by the vision splendid 
75 Is on his way attended; 

At length the Man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

VI 
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
80 And even with something of a mother's mind. 
And no unworthy aim, 
The homely Nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child, her inmate Man, 
Forget the glories he hath known, 
8s And that imperial palace whence he came. 

VII 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size! 
See, where *mid work of his own hand he lies. 
Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses, 
90 With light upon him from his Father's eyes! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; 
A wedding or a festival, 
9S A mourning or a funeral. 

And this hath now his heart. 
And unto this he frames his song: 
Then will he fit his tongue 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 1 37 

To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 
100 But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little Actor cons another part; 
Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" 
105 With all the persons, down to palsied age, 
That Life brings with her in her equipage; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 



VIII 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

no Thy souFs immensity; 

Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — 

115 Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! 

On whom those truths do rest. 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; 
Thou, over whom thy immortality 

120 Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by; 
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 

125 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 



138 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthy freight, 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight, 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! 



IX 

130 O joy! that in our embers 

Is something that doth live. 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
135 Perpetual benediction: not indeed 

For that which is most worthy to be blest; 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his 
breast: — 
140 Not for these I raise 

The song of thanks and praise; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things. 
Fallings from us, vanishings; 
I4S Blank misgivings of a Creature 

Moving about in worlds not realised. 
High instincts before which our mortal Nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: 
But for those first affections, 
150 Those shadowy recollections. 

Which, be they what they may, 



ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY I39 

Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
15s Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 

To perish never; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor. 
Nor Man nor Boy, 
160 Nor all that is at enmity with joy. 
Can utterly abolish or destroy! 

Hence, in a season of calm weather, 
Though inland far we be. 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
165 Which brought us hither, 

Can in a moment travel thither, 
And see the children sport upon the shore. 
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

X 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 
170 And let the young Lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound! 
We in thought will join your throng. 
Ye that pipe and ye that play. 
Ye that through your hearts to-day 
17s Feel the gladness of the May! 

What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now for ever taken from my sight. 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; 



140 POEMS AKIN TO THE ANTIQUE AND ODES 

180 We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in what remains behind; 
In the primal sympathy 
Which having been must ever be, 
In the soothing thoughts that spring 

i8s Out of human suffering, 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

XI 

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
Think not of any severing of our loves! 

190 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; 
I only have relinquished one delight 
To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret. 
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; 

igs The innocent brightness of a new-born Day 
Is lovely yet; 
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; 

200 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live. 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



V 

SONNETS 

I 

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned, 
Mindless of its just honors; with this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody 
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; 
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; 
Camoens soothed with it an exile's grief; 
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf 
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp, 
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land 
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The Thing became a trumpet, whence he blew 
Soul-animating strains — alas, too few! 

II 

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room, 
And Hermits are contented with their cells, 
And Students with their pensive citadels: 
Maids at the wheel, the Weaver at his loom. 
Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, 
141 



142 SONNETS 

High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, 
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: 
In truth, the prison, unto which we doom 
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, 
10 In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: 
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must 

be) 
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty. 
Should find brief solace there, as I have found. 

Ill 

Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais, 
August, 1802 

Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, 
Star of my country! — on the horizon's brink 
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink 
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, 

5 Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, 
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st 

wink. 
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest 
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot 

10 Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. 

Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot. 
One life, one glory! I with many a fear 
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs. 
Among Men who do not love her, linger here. 



SONNETS 143 

IV 

On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic 

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee; 
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. 
She was a Maiden City, bright and free; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate; 
And, when She took unto herself a Mate, 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 
And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
D Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; 
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
When her long life hath reached its final day: 
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade 
Of that which once was great, is passed away. 

V 

To Toussaint l'Ouverture 

ToussAiNT, the most unhappy Man of Men! 
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough 
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; — 
O miserable Chieftain! where and when 
Wilt thou find patience.? Yet die not; do thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: 
Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again, 
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind 



144 SONNETS 

lo Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and 
skies; 
There's not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies. 
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind. 



VI 

Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of 
Switzerland 

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea, 
One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: 
In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice. 
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! 

5 There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee 

Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly 

striven : 
Thou from the Alpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: 

lo Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; 
For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be 
That mountain Floods should thunder as before. 
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
And neither awful Voice be heard by thee! 



SONNETS 145 

VII 

Written in London, September, 1802 

O Friend! I know not which way I must look 

For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, 

To think that now our Life is only drest 

For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, 

5 Or groom! — We must run glittering like a Brook 
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: 
The wealthiest man among us is the best: 
No grandeur now in nature or in book 
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 

10 This is idolatry; and these we adore: 

Plain living and high thinking are no more: 
The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 

VIII 

The world is too much with us; late and soon, 

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: 

Little we see in Nature that is ours; 

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 
s This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 

The winds that will be howling at all hours. 

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 

For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; 

It moves us not. — Great God! Fd rather be 
10 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 



146 SONNETS 

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

IX 

London, 1802 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: 
England hath need of thee: she is a fen 
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 

5 Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; 
Oh! raise us up, return to us again; 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: 

10 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, 
So didst thou travel on life's common way, 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

X 

It is not to be thought of that the Flood 
Of British freedom, which to the open Sea 
Of the world's praise from dark antiquity 
Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood," 
5 Roused though it be full often to a mood 
Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 



SONNETS 147 

That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands 
Should perish; and to evil and to good 
Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung 
10 Armory of the invincible Knights of old : 

We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals 

hold 
Which Milton held. — In every thing we are sprung 
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 



XI 

To THE Men of Kent, October, 1803 

Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, 

Ye children of a soil that doth advance 

Her haughty brow against the coast of France, 

Now is the time to prove your hardiment! 

5 To France be words of invitation sent! 

They from their fields can see the countenance 
Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance. 
And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. 
Left single, in bold parley. Ye, of yore, 

10 Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; 
Confirmed the charters that were yours before; — 
No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; 
We all are with you now from shore to shore: — 
Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death ! 



148 SONNETS 



XII 



In the Pass of Killicranky, an Invasion 
being expected, october, 1803 

Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, 
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed 
Against an equal host that wore the plaid, 
Shepherds and Herdsmen. — Like a whirlwind 

came 
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; 
And Garry, thundering down his mountain road, 
Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the 

load 
Of the dead bodies. — 'Twas a day of shame 
For them whom precept and the pedantry 
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. 
O for a single hour of that Dundee, 
Who on that day the word of onset gave! 
Like conquest would the Men of England see; 
And her Foes find a like inglorious grave. 

xin 

England! the time is come when thou should'st 

wean 
Thy heart from its emasculating food; 
The truth should now be better understood; 
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen 
Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been 
But for thy trespasses; and, at this day, 



SONNETS 149 

If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa, 

Aught good were destined, Thou would'st step 

between. 
England! all nations in this charge agree: 
10 But worse, more ignorant in love and hate, 
Far, far more abject is thine Enemy: 
Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the 

freight 
Of thy offences be a heavy weight; 
Oh grief, that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee! 

XIV 

November, 1806 

Another year! — another deadly blow! 
Another mighty Empire overthrown! 
And We are left, or shall be left, alone; 
The last that dare to struggle with the Foe. 

5 'Tis well! from this day forward we shall know 
That in ourselves our safety must be sought; 
That by our own right hands it must be wrought, 
That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. 
O Dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer! 

10 We shall exult, if they who rule the land 
Be men who hold its many blessings dear. 
Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile band, 
Who are to judge of danger which they fear, 
And honor which they do not understand. 



150 SONNETS 

XV 

Catherine Wordsworth 

(Died June 4, 1812) 

Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind 
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom 
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, 
That spot which no vicissitude can find? 

5 Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind — 
But how could I forget thee? Through what 

power. 
Even for the least division of an hour, 
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 
To my most grievous loss? — That thought's 
return 

10 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, 
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn. 
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; 
That neither present time, nor years unborn 
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 



XVI 

Personal Talk 

I AM not One who much or oft delight 
To season my fireside with personal talk, — 
Of friends, who live within an easy walk. 
Or neighbors, daily, weekly, in my sight: 
5 And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 



SONNETS 151 

Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. 
These all wear out of me, like forms with chalk 
Painted on rich men's floors for one feast-night. 
Better than such discourse doth silence long, 
lo Long, barren silence, square with my desire; 
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. 
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire. 
And listen to the flapping of the flame. 
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. 

XVII 

Continued 

Wings have we, — and as far as we can go 
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood. 
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood 
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 

5 Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, 
we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good : 
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and 

blood. 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 

10 Matter wherein right voluble I am. 
To which I listen with a ready ear; 
Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, — 
The gentle Lady married to the Moor; 
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 



152 SONNETS V 

) 

XVIII 

Concluded ! 

Nor can I not believe but that hereby 
Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote , 

From evil-speaking; rancor, never sought, 
Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. 

5 Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I j 

Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous 

thought: 
And thus from day to day my little boat ' 

Rocks in its harbor, lodging peaceably. 
Blessings be with them — and eternal praise, ] 

lo Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — ' 
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs | 
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!] 
Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, . 
Then gladly would I end my mortal days. \ 

XIX 

To Sleep , 

A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, ' 

One after one; the sound of rain, and bees j 

Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, ] 

Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky i 
5 By turns have all been thought of, yet I lie 

Sleepless; and soon the small birds* melodies | 

Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; i 



SONNETS 153 

And the first Cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, 
10 And could not win thee. Sleep! by any stealth: 
So do not let me wear to-night away: 
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day. 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! 

XX 

Composed upon the Beach near Calais, 1802 

It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free; 
The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun 
Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 

5 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea: 
Listen ! the mighty Being is awake. 
And doth with his eternal motion make 
A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, 

10 If thou appear'st untouched by solemn thought. 
Thy nature is not therefore less divine: 
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; 
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not. 



154 SONNETS 

XXI 

Composed upon Westminster Bridge 
Sept. 3, 1803 

Earth has not anything to show more fair: 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty: 
This City now doth like a garment wear 

5 The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 

Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky; 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep 

10 In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still! 



XXII 

I watch, and long have watched, with calm 

regret 
Yon slowly-sinking star — immortal Sire 
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire! 
Blue ether still surrounds him — yet — and yet; 
But now the horizon's rocky parapet 
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire, 
He bums — transmuted to a sullen fire, 



SONNETS 155 

That droops and dwindles — and the appointed 

debt 
To the flying moments paid, is seen no more. 
10 Angels and gods! zve struggle with our fate, 
While health, power, glory, pitiably decline, 
Depressed and then extinguished: and our state 
In this how different, lost star, from thine. 
That no to-morrow shall our beams restore! 



XXIII 

Wansfell! ^ this Household has a favored lot. 

Living with liberty on thee to gaze, 

To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her 
rays, 

Or when along thy breast serenely float 
5 Evening's angelic clouds. Yet ne'er a note 

Hath sounded (shame upon the Bard!) thy praise 

For all that thou, as if from heaven, hast brought 

Of glory lavished on our quiet days. 

Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone 
10 From every object dear to mortal sight. 

As soon we shall be, may these words attest 

How oft, to elevate our spirits, shone 

Thy visionary majesties of light. 

How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest. 

1 The hill that rises to the south-east, above Ambleside. 



156 SONNETS 

XXIV 

After- Thought 

I THOUGHT of Thee, my partner and my guide, 
As being past away. — Vain sympathies! 
For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes, 
I see what was, and is, and will abide; 

5 Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to 
glide; 
The Form remains, the Function never dies; 
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, 
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied 
The elements, must vanish; — be it so! 

10 Enough, if something from our hands have power 
To live, and act, and serve the future hour; 
And if, as tow'rd the silent tomb we go. 
Through love, through hope, and faith's trans- 
cendent dower. 
We feel that we are greater than we know. 

XXV 

Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense. 
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned. 
Albeit laboring for a scanty band 
Of white robed Scholars only, this immense 
5 And glorious work of fine intelligence! 

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore 



SONNETS 157 

Of nicely-calculated less or more; 
So deemed the Man who fashioned for the sense 
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
10 Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, 
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die; 
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth 

proof 
That they were born for immortality. 

XXVI 

Continued 

They dreamt not of a perishable home 
Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear 
Or groveling thought, to seek a refuge here; 
Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam; 

5 Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam 
Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath 
Of awe-struck widsom droops: — or let my path 
Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome 
Hath typified by reach of daring art 

10 Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest. 

The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread 
As now, when She hath also seen her breast 
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part 
Of grateful England's overflowing Dead. 



158 SONNETS 



XXVII 



Mary, Queen of Scots, Landing at the Mouth 

OF THE DeRWENT, WoRKINGTON 



Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, 
The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; 
And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore 
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed! 

5 And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud 

Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts 
When a soft summer gale at evening parts 
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) 
She smiled: but Time, the old Saturnian seer, 

10 Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand. 
With step prelusive to a long array 
Of woes and degradations hand in hand — 
Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear 
Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay! 



XXVIII 

On THE Departure of Sir Walter Scott from 
Abbotsford, for Naples 

A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain. 
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light 
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: 
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain 
5 For kindred Power departing from their sight; 



SONNETS 159 

While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe 

strain. 
Saddens his voice again and yet again. 
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might 
Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; 
10 Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue 

Than sceptered king or laureled conqueror knows. 
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, 
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, 
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope! 

XXIX 

The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute; 

The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy 

Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy; 

The target mouldering like ungathered fruit; 

5 The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 
As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread 
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsmen's head — 
All speak of manners withering to the root, 
And of old honors, too, and passions high: 

10 Then may we ask, though pleased that thought 
should range 
Among the conquests of civility. 
Survives imagination — to the change 
Superior.^ Help to virtue does she give.? 
If not, O Mortals, better cease to live! 



l6o SONNETS 



XXX 



A Poet! — He hath put his heart to school, 

Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff 

Which Art hath lodged within his hand — must 

laugh 
By precept only, and shed tears by rule. 
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff. 
And let the groveler sip his stagnant pool. 
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool 
Have killed him. Scorn should write his epitaph. 
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold.? 
Because the lovely little flower is free 
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; 
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree 
Comes not by casting in a formal mould 
But from its own divine vitality. 

XXXI 

To THE Memory of Raisley Calvert 

Calvert! it must not be unheard by them 
Who may respect my name, that I to thee 
Owed many years of early liberty. 
This care was thine when sickness did condemn 
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem — 
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray 
Where'er I liked; and finally array 
My temples with the Muse's diadem. 
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth; 



SONNETS l6l 

lo If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, 
In my past verse; or shall be. In the lays 
Of higher mood which now I meditate; — 
It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth ! 
To think how much of this will be thy praise. 

XXXII 

To Lady Fitzgerald, in her Seventieth year 

Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright. 
Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined 
By favoring Nature and a saintly Mind 
To something purer and more exquisite 

5 Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st 
my sight. 
When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek, 
Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, 
And head that droops because the soul is meek. 
Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare; 

lo That child of winter, prompting thoughts that 
climb 
From desolation toward the genial prime; 
Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air. 
And filling more and more with crystal light 
As pensive Evening deepens into night. 



l62 SONNETS 



XXXIII 



*'There!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride 
Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, 
**Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field 
Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy." Far and 
wide 

S A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 
Above sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose; 
And, by that simple notice, the repose 
Of earth, sky, sea, and air, was vivified. 
Beneath "the random bield of clod or stone" 

lo Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 
Have passed away; less happy than the One 
That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove 
The tender charm of poetry and love. 

XXXIV 

In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth 

Where the Author was born, and his Father's remains are laid. 

A point of life between my Parents' dust. 
And yours, my buried Little-ones! am I; 
And to those graves looking habitually 
In kindred quiet I repose my trust, 
s Death to the innocent is more than just. 
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; 
So may I hope, if truly I repent 
And meekly bear the ills which bear I must: 



SONNETS 163 

And You, my Offspring! that do still remain, 
10 Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 
If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain 
We breathed together for a moment's space, 
The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, 
And only love keep in your hearts a place 

XXXV 

Death 

Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne 

Which mists and vapors from mine eyes did 
shroud — 

Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed; 

But all the steps and ground about were strown 
5 With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone 

Ever put on: a miserable crowd. 

Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that 
cloud, 
**Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan." 

I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapors gave 
10 Smooth way: and I beheld the face of one 

Sleeping alone within a mossy cave, 

With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have 

Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone; 

A lovely Beauty in a summer grave! 



REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 
INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 

1 

IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING THE IM- \ 
AGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH : 

Wisdom and Spirit of the Universe! 
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought! ; 
And givest to forms and images a breath | 

And everlasting motion! not in vain, | 

s By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn ' 
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me j 

The passions that build up our human soul 
Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, 
But with high objects, with enduring things, | 

lo With life and nature; purifying thus j 

The elements of feeling and of thought, i 

And sanctifying by such discipline 
Both pain and fear, — until we recognize 
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 

IS Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 

With stinted kindness. In November days, ; 

When vapors rolling down the valleys made | 

A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods 
At noon; and mid the calm of summer nights, : 

20 When, by the margin of the trembling Lake, 

Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went ■ 

In solitude, such intercourse was mine; | 

164 



INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 165 

'Twas mine among the fields both day and night, 
And by the waters, all the summer long. 

25 And in the frosty season, when the sun 
Was set, and, visible for many a mile, 
The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, 
I heeded not the summons: — happy time 
It was indeed for all of us; for me 

30 It was a time of rapture! — Clear and loud 
The village clock tolled six — I wheeled about. 
Proud and exulting like an untired horse 
That cares not for his home. — All shod with steel 
We hissed along the polished ice, in games 

35 Confederate, imitative of the chase 

And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn, 
The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare. 
So through the darkness and the cold we flew, 
And not a voice was idle: with the din 

40 Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud; 
The leafless trees and every icy crag 
Tinkled like iron; while the distant hills 
Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars, 

45 Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west 
The orange sky of evening died away. 

Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
Into a silent bay, — or sportively 
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, 
50 To cut across the reflex of a Star; 

Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed 



l66 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes, 
When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
And all the shadowy banks on either side 

55 Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning 
still 
The rapid line of motion, then at once 
Have I, reclining back upon my heels. 
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs 
Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled 

60 With visible motion her diurnal round! 
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train. 
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched 
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. 



YEW-TREES 

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, 
Which to this day stands single, in the midst 
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore. 
Not loth to furnish weapons for the Bands 

5 Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched 

To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the 

sea 
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, 
Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. 
Of vast circumference and gloom profound 

lo This solitary Tree! — a living thing 
Produced too slowly ever to decay; 
Of form and aspect too magnificent 
To be destroyed. But worthier still of note 
Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, 

15 Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; 

Huge trunks! — and each particular trunk a 

growth 
Of intertwisted fibers serpentine 
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved, — 
Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks 

20 That threaten the profane; — a pillared shade. 
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue. 
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged 
Perennially — beneath whose sable roof 
Of boughs as if for festal purpose decked 
167 



1 68 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

25 With unrejoiclng berries — ghostly shapes 

May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope, 
Silence and Foresight, Death the Skeleton 
And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, 
As in a natural temple scattered o'er 

30 With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, 
United worship; or in mute repose 
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood 
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. 



LINES 

COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, 
ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING 
A TOUR, JULY 13, 1798 

Five years have past; five summers, with the 

length 
Of five long w^inters! and again I hear 
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs 
With a sweet inland murmur. — Once again 

5 Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 
That on a wild secluded scene impress 
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect 
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 
The day is come when I again repose 

10 Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 

These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard- 
tufts, 
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, 
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 
Among the woods and copses, nor disturb 

15 The wild green landscape. Once again I see 
These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines 
Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms. 
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke 
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! 

20 With some uncertain notice, as might seem 
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 
169 



170 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire 
The Hermit sits alone. 

These beauteous Forms, 
Through a long absence, have not been to me 

25 As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: 
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din 
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, 
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet. 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; 

30 And passing even into my purer mind. 
With tranquil restoration: — feelings too 
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, 
As have no slight or trivial influence 
On that best portion of a good man's life, 

35 His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, 
To them I may have owed another gift, 
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, 
In which the burthen of the mystery, 

40 In which the heavy and the weary weight 
Of all this unintelligible world, 
Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood. 
In which the affections gently lead us on, — 
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 

45 And even the motion of our human blood 
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul: 
While with an eye made quiet by the power 
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 

so We see into the life of things. 



LINES 171 I 

If this \ 

Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft, j 

In darkness, and amid the many shapes ! 

Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir 
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 
55 Have hung upon the beatings of my heart. 
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, 
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, ■ 

How often has my spirit turned to thee! j 



And now, with gleams of half-extinguished 
thought, 

60 With many recognitions dim and faint. 
And somewhat of a sad perplexity. 
The picture of the mind revives again: 
While here I stand, not only with the sense 
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 

65 That in this moment there is life and food 
For future years. And so I dare to hope, 
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when 

first 
I came among these hills; when like a roe 
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 

70 Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams. 
Wherever nature led : more like a man 
Flying from something that he dreads, than one 
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then 
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 

75 And their glad animal movements all gone by) 
To me was all in all. — I cannot paint 



172 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

What then I was. The sounding cataract 

Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, 

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 

80 Their colors and their forms, were then to me 
An appetite; a feeling and a love, 
That had no need of a remoter charm. 
By thought supplied, or any interest 
Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, 

85 And all its aching joys are now no more. 
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts 
Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, 
Abundant recompense. For I have learned 

90 To look on nature, not as in the hour 

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 

95 A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused. 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean and the living air. 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: 

100 A motion and a spirit, that impels 

All thinking things, all objects of all thought. 
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I 

still 
A lover of the meadows and the woods, 

los And mountains; and of all that we behold 



LINES 173 

From this green earth; of all the mighty world 
Of eye and ear, both what they half create,^ 
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize 
In nature and the language of the sense, 

no The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
Of all my moral being. 

Nor perchance, 
If I were not thus taught, should I the more 
Suffer my genial spirits to decay: 

IIS For thou art with me, here, upon the banks 
Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, 
My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch 
The language of my former heart, and read 
My former pleasures in the shooting lights 

120 Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while 
May I behold in thee what I was once. 
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make, 
Knowing that Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, 

125 Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
From joy to joy: for she can so inform 
The mind that is within us, so impress 
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 

130 Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 

i"This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of 
Young, the exact expression of which I do not recollect." — 
Wordsworth 



174 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

The dreary intercourse of daily life, 
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
Our cheerful faith, that all v^hich we behold 

135 Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; 
And let the misty mountain winds be free 
To blow against thee: and in after years, 
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 

140 Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind 
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, 
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, 

145 Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts 
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me. 
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance 
If I should be where I no more can hear 
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these 
gleams 

150 Of past existence, wilt thou then forget 
That on the banks of this delightful stream 
We stood together; and that I, so long 
A worshipper of Nature, hither came 
Unwearied in that service: rather say 

155 With warmer love, oh ! with far deeper zeal 
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget. 
That after many wanderings, many years 
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs. 
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 

160 More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake! 



FRENCH REVOLUTION 

AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COM- 
MENCEMENT 

Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! 
For mighty were the auxiliars, which then stood 
Upon our side, we who were strong in love! 
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 

5 But to be 5^oung was very heaven! — Oh! times, 
In which the meager, stale, forbidding ways 
Of custom, law, and statute, took at once 
The attraction of a country in Romance! 
When Reason seemed the most to assert her 
rights 

lo When most intent on making of herself 
A prime enchantress — to assist the work, 
Which then was going forward in her name! 
Not favored spots alone, but the whole earth. 
The beauty wore of promise — that which sets 

15 (As at some moment might not be unfelt 
Among the bowers of paradise itself) 
The budding rose above the rose full blown. 
What temper at the prospect did not wake 
To happiness unthought of? The inert 

20 Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! 

They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, 
The playfellows of fancy, who had made 
All powers of swiftness, subtilty and strength 
^7S 



176 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Their ministers, — who in lordly wise had stirred 

25 Among the grandest objects of the sense, 
And dealt with whatsoever they found there 
As if they had within some lurking right 
To wield it; they, too, who, of gentle mood. 
Had watched all gentle motions, and to these 

30 Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more 
mild, 
And in the region of their peaceful selves; — 
Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty 
Did both find helpers to their heart's desire, 
And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish; 

35 Were called upon to exercise their skill, 
Not in Utopia, subterranean Fields, 
Or some secreted Island, Heaven knows where! 
But in the very world, which is the world 
Of all of us, — the place where in the end 

40 We find our happiness, or not at all! 



FRAGMENT FROM THE RECLUSE 

On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, 
Musing in solitude, I oft perceive 
Fair trains of imagery before me rise, 
Accompanied by feelings of delight 

5 Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed; 
And I am conscious of affecting thoughts 
And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes 
Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh 
The good and evil of our mortal state. 

lo — To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come, 
Whether from breath of outward circumstance, 
Or from the Soul — an impulse to herself, 
I would give utterance in numerous verse. 
Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope — 

15 And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith; 
Of blessed consolations in distress; 
Of moral strength, and intellectual power; 
Of joy in widest commonalty spread; 
Of the individual Mind that keeps her own 

20 Inviolate retirement, subject there 

To Conscience only, and the law supreme 

Of that Intelligence which governs all; 

I sing: — "fit audience let me find though few!" 

So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard, 
25 Holiest of Men. — Urania, I shall need 
Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such 
177 



178 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven! j 

For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink ' 
Deep — and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds 

30 To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. j 
All strength — all terror, single or in bands, j 

That ever was put forth in personal form; 
Jehovah — with his thunder, and the choir I 

Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones — i 

35 I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not 
The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, 
Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out I 

By help of dreams, can breed such fear and awe j 
As fall upon us often when we look i 

40 Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man, 

My haunt, and the main region of my song. 
— Beauty — a living Presence of the earth, 
Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms 
Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed 1 

45 From earth's materials — waits upon my steps; , 
Pitches her tents before me as I move, \ 

An hourly neighbor. Paradise, and groves I 

Elysian, Fortunate Fields — like those of old j 

Sought in the Atlantic Main — why should they be \ 

50 A history only of departed things, 

Or a mere fiction of what never was? i 

For the discerning intellect of Man, \ 

When wedded to this goodly univer'se 
In love and holy passion, shall find these 

55 A simple produce of the common day. ! 

I, long before the blissful hour arrives ^^ 

1 



FRAGMENT FROM THE RECLUSE I79 j 

Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse j 

Of this great consummation: — and, by words 1 

Which speak of nothing more than what we are, i 

60 Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep ' 
Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain 

To noble raptures; while my voice proclaims , 
How exquisitely the individual Mind 
(And the progressive powers perhaps no less 

65 Of the whole species) to the external World 

Is fitted: — and how exquisitely, too, I 

Theme this but little heard of among Men, ' 

The external World is fitted to the Mind; } 

And the creation (by no lower name ] 

70 Can it be called) which they with blended might ' 

Accomplish: — this is our high argument. \ 
— Such grateful haunts forgoing, if I oft 
Must turn elsewhere — to travel near the tribes 

And fellowships of men, and see ill sights j 

75 Of madding passions mutually inflamed; j 

Must hear Humanity in fields and groves 1 
Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang 

Brooding above the fierce confederate storm 1 
Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore 

80 Within the walls of Cities; may these sounds i 

Have their authentic comment, — that even these j 

Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn! I 

— Descend, prophetic Spirit! that inspirest | 
The human Soul of universal earth, 

85 Dreaming on things to come; and dost possess i 

A metropolitan Temple in the hearts \ 



l8o REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Of mighty Poets; upon me bestow 

A gift of genuine insight; that my Song 

With star-like virtue in its place may shine, 
go Shedding benignant influence, — and secure, 

Itself, from all malevolent eflFect 

Of those mutations that extend their sway 

Throughout the nether sphere! — ^And if with 
this 

I mix more lowly matter; with the thing 
95 Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man 

Contemplating, and who, and what he was. 

The transitory Being that beheld 

This Vision, — ^when and where, and how he 
lived; — 

Be not this labor useless. If such theme 
loa May sort with highest objects, then, dread Power, 

Whose gracious favor is the primal source 

Of all illumination, may my Life 

Express the image of a better time. 

More wise desires, and simpler manners; — nurse 
los My Heart in genuine freedom: — all pure thoughts 

Be with me; — so shall thy unfailing love 
Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end! 



THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 

" The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described be- 
longs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and 
mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a 
stated round in their neighborhood, and had certain fixed 
days on which, at different houses, they regularly received 
alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions." — 
Wordsworth 

I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk; 
And he was seated, by the highway side, 
On a low structure of rude masonry 
Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they 

5 Who lead their horses down the steep rough road 
May thence remount at ease. The aged Man 
Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone 
That overlays the pile; and, from a bag 
All white with flour, the dole of village dames, 

lo He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; 
And scanned them with a fixed and serious look 
Of idle computation. In the sun, 
Upon the second step of that small pile, 
Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, 

15 He sat, and ate his food in solitude: 

And ever, scattered from his palsied hand. 
That, still attempting to prevent the waste. 
Was baflHed still, the crumbs in little showers 
Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds, 

20 Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal. 
Approached within the length of half his staff. 
181 



1 82 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Him from my childhood have I known; and 
then 
He was so old, he seems not older now; 
He travels on, a solitary Man, 

25 So helpless in appearance, that for him 

The sauntering horseman-traveler does not throw 
With careless hand his alms upon the ground, 
But stops, — that he may safely lodge the coin 
Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, 

30 But still, when he has given his horse the rein, 
Watches the aged Beggar with a look 
Sidelong — and half- reverted. She who tends 
The toll-gate, when in summer at her door 
She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees 

35 The aged Beggar coming, quits her work. 
And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. 
The post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake 
The aged Beggar in the woody lane, 
Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned 

40 The old Man does not change his course, the boy 
Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, 
And passes gently by — without a curse 
Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. 
He travels on, a solitary Man; 

45 His age has no companion. On the ground 
His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, 
They move along the ground; and, evermore. 
Instead of common and habitual sight 
Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, 

so And the blue sky, one little span of earth 



THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 183 

Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day. 
Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground. 
He pHes his weary journey; seeing still. 
And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, 

55 Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, 
The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left 
Impressed on the white road, — in the same line. 
At distance still the same. Poor Traveler! 
His staff trails with him; scarcely do his feet 

60 Disturb the summer dust; he is so still 
In look and motion, that the cottage curs. 
Ere he have passed the door, will turn away, 
Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls. 
The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, 

65 And urchins newly breeched — all pass him by; 
Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind. 

But deem not this Man useless. — Statesmen! ye 
Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye 
Who have a broom still ready in your hands 

70 To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, 

Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contem- 
plate 
Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him not 
A burthen of the earth! 'Tis Nature's law 
That none, the meanest of created things, 

75 Of forms created the most vile and brute, 
The dullest or most noxious, should exist 
Divorced from good — a spirit and pulse of good, 
A life and soul, to every mode of being 



184 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Inseparably linked. While thus he creeps 

80 From door to door, the Villagers in him 
Behold a record which together binds 
Past deeds and offices of chanty, 
Else unremembered, and so keeps alive 
The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years 

85 And that half-wisdom half-experience gives. 
Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign 
To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. 
Among the farms and solitary huts, 
Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, 

Qo Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds. 
The mild necessity of use compels 
To acts of love; and habit does the work 
Of reason; yet prepares that after-joy 
Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, 

95 By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued, 
Doth find herself insensibly disposed 
To virtue and true goodness. Some there are. 
By their good works exalted, lofty minds 
And meditative, authors of delight 

100 And happiness, which to the end of time 

Will live, and spread, and kindle: even such minds 
In childhood, from this solitary Being, 
Or from like wanderer, haply have received 
(A thing more precious far than all that books 

los Or the solicitudes of love can do!) 

That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, 
In which they found their kindred with a world 
Where want and sorrow were. The easy man 



THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 185 

Who sits at his own door, — and, like the pear 
110 That overhangs his head from the green wall, 
Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, 
The prosperous and unthinking, they who live 
Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove 
Of their own kindred; — all behold in him 
115 A silent monitor, which on their minds 
Must needs impress a transitory thought 
Of self-congratulation, to the heart 
Of each recalling his peculiar boons. 
His charters and exemptions; and perchance, 
120 Though he to no one give the fortitude 
And circumspection needful to preserve 
His present blessings, and to husband up 
The respite of the season, he at least — 
And 'tis no vulgar service — makes them felt. 

125 Yet further. Many, I believe, there are 

Who live a life of virtuous decency, 
Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel 
No self-reproach; who of the moral law 
Established in the land where they abide 

130 Are strict observers; and not negligent, 

In acts of love to those with whom they dwell. 
Their kindred, and the children of their blood. 
Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! 
— But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; 

135 Go, and demand of him, if there be here 
In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, 
And these inevitable charities, 



l86 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? 

No — Man is dear to Man; the poorest poor . 

140 Long for some moments in a weary life I 

When they can know and feel that they have been. 
Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out 
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such 
As needed kindness, for this single cause, 

145 That we have all of us one human heart. 

— Such pleasure is to. one kind being known, 
My neighbor, when with punctual care, each week 
Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself 
By her own wants, she from her store of meal 

150 Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip 
Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door 
Returning with exhilarated heart, 
Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. 

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 

155 And while in that vast solitude to which 
The tide of things has borne him, he appears 
To breathe and live but for himself alone, 
Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about 
The good which the benignant law of Heaven 

160 Has hung around him: and, while life is his. 
Still let him prompt the unlettered Villagers 
To tender offices and pensive thoughts. 
— Then let him pass, a blessing on his head ! 
And, long as he can wander, let him breathe 

165 The freshness of the valleys; let his blood 
Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; 



THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR 187 

And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath 
Beat his gray locks against his withered face. 
Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness 

170 Gives the last human interest to his heart! 
May never House, misnamed of Industry, 
Make him a captive! for that pent-up din. 
Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air. 
Be his the natural silence of old age! 

175 Let him be free of mountain solitudes; 

And have around him, whether heard or not, 
The pleasant melody of woodland birds. 
Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now 
Been doomed so long to settle on the earth 

180 That not without some effort they behold 
The countenance of the horizontal sun. 
Rising or setting, let the light at least 
Find a free entrance to their languid orbs. 
And let him, where and when he will, sit down 

185 Beneath the trees, or by the grassy bank 
Of highway side, and with the little birds 
Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally, 
As in the eye of Nature he has lived. 
So in the eye of Nature let him die! 



ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY 

A SKETCH 1 

I 

The little hedgerow birds, \ 

That peck along the road, regard him not. ; 

He travels on, and in his face, his step, , 

His gait, is one expression; every limb. 

His look and bending figure, all bespeak \ 

A man who does not move with pain, but moves i 

With thought. — He is insensibly subdued \ 

To settled quiet: he is one by whom i 

All effort seems forgotten; one to whom I 

Long patience hath such mild composure given. 

That patience now doth seem a thing of which : 

He hath no need. He is by nature led 

To peace so perfect, that the young behold , 

With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels. i 



i88 



NUTTING 

It seems a day 
(I speak of one from many singled out) 
One of those heavenly days which cannot die; 
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, 

5 I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth 
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, 
A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps 
Toward the distant woods, a Figure quaint. 
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-ofF weeds 

lo Which for that service had been husbanded. 
By exhortation of my frugal Dame; 
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile 
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,— and, in truth. 
More ragged than need was ! Among the woods, 

15 And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way 
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook 
Unvisited, where not a broken bough 
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign 
Of devastation, but the hazels rose 

20 Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, 
A virgin scene! — A little while I stood. 
Breathing with such suppression of the heart 
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint 
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed 

25 The banquet, — or beneath the trees I sate 

Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; 
A temper known to those, who, after long 
189 



190 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

And weary expectation, have been blest 
With sudden happiness beyond all hope. — 

30 Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves 
The violets of five seasons re-appear 
And fade, unseen by any human eye; 
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on 
For ever, — and I saw the sparkling foam, 

35 And with my cheek on one of those green stones 
That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees. 
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep, 
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound. 
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay 

40 Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure. 

The heart luxuriates with indiff*erent things, 
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones, 
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose. 
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, 
with crash 

45 And merciless ravage; and the shady nook 
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, 
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up 
Their quiet being: and, unless I now 
Confound my present feelings with the past, 

so Even then, when from the bower I turned away 
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, 
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld 
The silent trees and the intruding sky. — 
Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades 

55 In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand 
Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods. 



STANZAS 

WRITTEN IN MY POCKET-COPY OF THOMSON'S 
CASTLE OF INDOLENCE 

Within our happy Castle there dwelt One^ 
Whom without blame I may not overlook; 
For never sun on living creature shone 
Who more devout enjoyment with us took: 
5 Here on his hours he hung as on a book; 
On his own time here would he float away, 
As doth a fly upon a summer brook; 
But go to-morrow — or belike the day — 
Seek for him, — he is fled; and whither none can 
say. 

lo Thus often would he leave our peaceful home, 
And find elsewhere his business or delight; 
Out of our Valley's limits did he roam: 
Full many a time, upon a stormy night, 
His voice came to us from the neighboring height: 

15 Oft did we see him driving full in view 

At mid-day when the sun was shining bright; 

What ill was on him, what he had to do, 

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew. 

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man 
20 When he came back to us, a withered flower, — 
1 S. T. Coleridge. 
191 



192 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Or, like a sinful creature, pale and wan. 
Down would he sit; and without strength or power 
Look at the common grass from hour to hour: 
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say, 
25 Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower. 
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay; 
And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away. 

Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was 

Whenever from our Valley he withdrew; 
30 For happier soul no living creature has 

Than he had, being here the long day through. 

Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: 

Some thought far worse of him, and judged him 
wrong: 

But Verse was what he had been wedded to; 
35 And his own mind did like a tempest strong 

Come to him thus, and drove the weary Vv^ight 
along. 

With him there often walked in friendly guise. 
Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree, 
A noticeable man with large gray eyes, 

40 And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly 
As if a blooming face it ought to be; 
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear 
Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy; 
Profound his forehead was, though not severe; 

45 Yet some did think that he had little business 
here: 



STANZAS 193 

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right; 
Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy; 
His limbs would toss about him with delight 
Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. 
50 Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy 
To banish listlessness and irksome care; 
He would have taught you how you might employ 
Yourself; and many did to him repair, — 
And certes not in vain; he had inventions rare. 

55 Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried : 

Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay, 

Made — to his ear attentively applied — 

A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play; 

Glasses he had, that little things display, 

The beetle panoplied in gems and gold, 

60 A mailed angel on a battle day; 

The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold, 

And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold. 

He would entice that other Man to hear 
65 His music, and to view his imagery: 

And, sooth, these two did love each other dear. 

As far as love in such a place could be; 

There did they dwell — from earthly labor free. 

As happy spirits as were ever seen; 
70 If but a bird, to keep them company, 

Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween. 

As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden 
Queen. 



THE FOUNTAIN 
A CONVERSATION 

We talked with open heart, and tongue 
Affectionate and true, 
A pair of Friends, though I was young, 
And Matthew seventy-two. 

s We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
Beside a mossy seat; 
And from the turf a fountain broke. 
And gurgled at our feet. 

"Now, Matthew!" said I, ''let us match 
lo This water's pleasant tune 

With some old Border-song, or Catch, 
That suits a summer's noon; 

"Or of the Church-clock and the chimes 
Sing here beneath the shade, 
IS That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
Which you last April made!" 

In Silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
The spring beneath the tree; 
And thus the dear old man replied, 
20 The gray-haired man of glee: 
194 



THE FOUNTAIN I95 

"Down to the vale this water steers, 
How merrily it goes! 
'Twill murmur on a thousand years, 
And flow as now it flows. 

25 And here, on this delightful day, 
I cannot choose but think 
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
Beside this Fountain's brink. 

"My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
30 My heart is idly stirred, 

For the same sound is in my ears 
Which in those days I heard. 

"Thus fares it still in our decay: 
And yet the wiser mind 
35 Mourns less for what age takes away 
Than what it leaves behind. 

"The Blackbird in the summer trees. 
The Lark upon the hill. 
Let loose their carols when they please, 
40 Are quiet when they will. 

"With Nature never do they wage 
A foolish strife; they see 
A happy youth, and their old age 
Is beautiful and free: 



196 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

45 "But we are pressed by heavy laws; 
And often, glad no more, 
We wear a face of joy, because 
We have been glad of yore. 

"If there be one who need bemoan 
so His kindred laid in earth, 

The household hearts that were his own, 
It is the man of mirth. 

"My days, my Friend, are almost gone, 
My life has been approved, 
55 And many love me; but by none 
Am I enough beloved." 

"Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
The man who thus complains! 
I live and sing my idle songs 
60 Upon these happy plains, 

"And, Matthew, for thy Children dead 

I'll be a son to thee!" 

At this he grasped my hand, and said, 
"Alas! that cannot be." 

65 We rose up from the fountain-side; 
And down the smooth descent 
Of the green sheep-track did we glide; 
And through the wood we went; 



THE FOUNTAIN I97 

And, ere we came to Leonard's-rock, 
70 He sang those witty rhymes 

About the crazy old church-clock, 
And the bewildered chimes. 



A POET'S EPITAPH 

Art thou a Statesman, in the van 
Of public business trained and bred ? 
— First learn to love one living man; 
Then may'st thou think upon the dead. 

S A Lawyer art thou? — draw not nigh! 
Go, carry to some fitter place 
The keenness of that practised eye, 
The hardness of that sallow face. 

Art thou a Man of purple cheer? 
lo A rosy Man, right plump to see? 
Approach; yet. Doctor, not too near. 
This grave no cushion is for thee. 

Or art thou one of gallant pride, 
A Soldier, and no man of chafF? 
15 Welcome! — but lay thy sword aside. 
And lean upon a peasant's staff. 

Physician art thou ? One, all eyes, 
Philosopher! a fingering slave. 
One that would peep and botanize 
20 Upon his mother's grave? 

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece, 
O turn aside, — and take, I pray, 
That he below may rest in peace, 
That abject thing, thy soul, away! 
198 



A POET S EPITAPH 1 99 

25 A Moralist perchance appears; 

Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod: 
And he has neither eyes nor ears; 
Himself his world, and his own God; 

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling 
30 Nor form, nor feeling, great or small; 
A reasoning, self-sufficing thing. 
An intellectual All-in-all! 

Shut close the door; press down the latch; 
Sleep in thy intellectual crust; 
35 Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 

Near this unprofitable dust. ^ 

But who is He, with modest looks. 
And clad in homely russet brown? 
He murmurs near the running brooks 
40 A music sweeter than their own. 

He is retired as noontide dew. 
Or fountain in a noon-day grove: 
And you must love him, ere to you 
He will seem worthy of your love. 

45 The outward shows of sky and earth, 
Of hill and valley, he has viewed; 
And impulses of deeper birth 
Have come to him in solitude. 



200 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

In common things that round us lie 
so Some random truths he can impart; — 
The harvest of a quiet eye 
That broods and sleeps on his own heart. 

But he is weak; both Man and Boy, 
Hath been an idler in the land; 
55 Contented if he might enjoy 

The things which others understand. 

— Come hither in thy hour of strength; 
Come, weak as is a breaking wave! 
Here stretch thy body at full length; 
60 Or build thy house upon this grave! 



EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH 
OF JAMES HOGG 

NOVEMBER, 1835 

When first, descending from the moorlands, 

I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide 

Along a bare and open valley, 

The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. 

s When last along its banks I wandered, 
Through groves that had begun to shed 
Their golden leaves upon the pathways. 
My steps the Border-minstrel led. 

The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer, 
10 Mid mouldering ruins low he lies; 
And death upon the braes of Yarrow, 
Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes: 

Nor has the rolling year twice measured. 
From sign to sign, its stedfast course, 
IS Since every mortal power of Coleridge 
Was frozen at its marvellous source; 

The rapt One, of the godlike forehead. 
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth 
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, 
20 Has vanished from his lonely hearth. 

201 



202 REFLECTIVE AND ELEGIAC POEMS 

Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits, 
Or waves that own no curbing hand, 
How fast has brother followed brother, 
From sunshine to the sunless land! 

25 Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber 
Were earlier raised, remain to hear 
A timid voice, that asks in whispers, 
''Who next will drop and disappear?" 

Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, 
30 Like London with its own black wreath, 
On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking 
I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath. 

As if but yesterday departed, 
Thou too art gone before; but why, 
35 O'er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered. 
Should frail survivors heave a sigh? 

Mourn rather for that holy Spirit, 
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep; 
For Her^ who, ere her summer faded, 
40 Has sunk into a breathless sleep. 

No more of old romantic sorrows. 
For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid ! 
With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten, 
And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead. 
iMrs. Hemans. 



NOTES AND COMMENT ON ARNOLD'S 
ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

(Heax-y numerals refer to page; light ones to line) 

1, I. Lord Macaulay. Thomas Babington Macaulay 
(1800-1859), although educated for the bar and for many 
years a member of the House of Commons, divided his 
labors between history, literature, and practical politics. 
His best known poems are the Lays of Ancient Rome, his 
greatest prose work a History of England. Master of a 
powerful and vivid style, he is said to have exerted more 
influence on the prose of the latter half of the nineteenth 
century than any other writer. His besetting sin, however, 
is positiveness and exaggeration; and elsewhere Arnold 
speaks of the "confident shallowness which makes him so 
admired by public speakers and leading-article writers, 
and so intolerable to all searchers for truth." 

1, 18. To buy his shoe-strings. It is interesting to note 
that in 1835 Wordsworth, in commenting on the limited 
sale of his works, judged that he had up to then 
received not more than a total of £1000. Scott. The 
literary career of Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832) began as 
a poet; and practically all of his poetry {The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel, 1805, Marmion, 1808, The Lady of the Lake, 
1810) was written before he was forty. His great novels 
began with JVaverley (18 14). As the creator of the his- 
torical novel, Scott's place in literature is secure. As a 
poet, however, the very interest in plot, setting, and 
character which makes the novelist supreme, lowers the 
poet to a permanently second rank. Although he and 
Wordsworth were devoted friends to the day of Scott's 
death, the former thought but little of his friend's 
poetry. 

1, 22. Byron. It was when he was twenty-one that 
George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) awoke one 
morning, as he says, to find himself famous. The occasion 
was the publication of two cantos of Childe Harold's 
Pilgrimage (1809). A genuine lover of beauty but often 
203 



204 NOTES AND COMMENT 

injudicious in the pursuit of it, ostracized from England 
on account of society's disapproval of his conduct, Byron 
nursed his grievance in Italy for the last eight years of his 
life, and died fighting for Greek independence. "The bad 
boy of literature" has been posterity's label for this hand- 
some young rebel, and " Byronic gloom" is proverbial. 
Although not wholly approving, Wordsworth was in- 
terested in Byron's poetry and in his revolutionary views. 
Byron's flippant opinion of Wordsworth's works was 
"Words-words." 

2, 6. Coleridge. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772- 
1834), for thirteen years Wordsworth's most intimate 
friend, wrote in a little more than a year (1797-1798) 
practically all the poems on which his fame now rests, 
among them The Ancient Mariner and Kuhla Khan. The 
unreal and fantastic spirit which inspired most of his 
poetry led him at length into the bog of German philosophy 
and metaphysics, from which the poet never really ex- 
tricated himself. As critic and essayist his reputation 
was nearly as high as that of poet. 

2, 9. Cambridge. Cambridge and Oxford are the two 
principal English universities. Consisting, as Cambridge 
does, of eighteen colleges for graduates and undergradu- 
ates alike, each having its separate building, its composi- 
tion is quite different from an American university or 
college. Its oldest college, Peterhouse, was founded in 
1284. Saint John's college, which Wordsworth attended, 
was founded in 1511. Among the alumni of Cambridge 
are the poets Spenser, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Herrick, 
Dryden, Milton, Gray, Byron, Coleridge and Tennyson. 
Oliver Cromwell and John Harvard were also graduates. 

2, 15. I remember Wordsworth relating, etc. In 1832 
Dr. Thomas Arnold, distressed at the country around 
Rugby as "among the dullest and ugliest in England," 
bought a house at Fox How on the river Rotha, not far 
from Grasmere, and here he spent a large part of his 
holidays with his wife and children. At Rydal Mount a 
Library Book was kept containing the names of the bor- 
rowers of books from Wordsworth's library, and Matthew 
Arnold's name is recorded as having borrowed Sir Charles 
Grandison in 1834-5, which shows, among other things, 
that at ten the boy was a frequenter of the Wordsworth 
house. 

2, 18. Guide to the Lakes. This descriptive prose ac- 
count of the Lake Country (in Westmoreland, Lancaster, 



NOTES AND COMMENT 205 

and Cumberland, in the northwest of England, with the 
Lakes of Windermere, Coniston, Derwent, etc.) was first 
published by Wordsworth in 1820 as an appendix to "The 
River Duddon, a Series of Sonnets." Later it was am- 
plified and published separately — in 1822 and in 1835. 

2, 22. Tennyson. It was the two volumes of poems 
published in 1842 that first attracted the favorable at- 
tention of critics to the writings of Alfred, later Lord, 
Tennyson (1809-1892). Previous to these had come two 
volumes in 1830 and 1832, which were variously designated 
as "drivel" and as "lollipop." But the volume of 1842 
contained among others The Lady of Shalott, The Lotus 
Eaters, Ulysses, Locksley Hall, and Sir Galahad. It is 
said that the line from Ulysses, "I am a part of all that I 
have met," so pleased the prime-minister. Sir Robert 
Peel, that he recommended Tennyson for an annual pen- 
sion of £200. In 1850 In Memoriam, his masterpiece, 
was published, and he was chosen to succeed Wordsworth 
as laureate. 

3, 18. Mr. Palgrave. Francis Turner Palgrave (1824- 
1897), poet, critic and Professor of poetry, combined re- 
markable sweetness of character with erudition and fine 
poetic sensitiveness. He was the son of Sir Francis Pal- 
grave, a lawyer and historian, who began life as the son 
of a Jewish stockbroker named Cohen. In the Golden 
Treasury, his priceless collection of British verse, the 
selection of forty-four poems by Wordsworth gives him 
pre-eminence over all other poets in the number of poems 
chosen. The list, as far as it goes, contains few excep- 
tions to Arnold's own. M. Renan. Joseph Ernest Re- 
nan's (1823-1892) brilliant and skeptical Life of Jesus 
in 1863 caused such a furor that he was removed from his 
chair as Professor of Hebrew, Chaldee, and Syriac in the 
College of France. This position the College was glad 
to restore to him in 1871, and he continued to wage his 
iconoclastic warfare until his death. He became a member 
of the French Academy in 1878. 

4, 14. Goethe. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749- 
183 1), author of Faust, is the great philosophical poet 
whom Germany has given to the world, and is the fore- 
most German poet of all times. He has written many 
beautiful lyrics, in addition to many dramas and several 
novels. 

5, 8. Nebuchadnezzar. The second of that name (about 
604-561 B. C.) was the great king of the Neo-Baby- 



206 NOTES AND COMMENT 

Ionian Empire to which the Prophets and particularly 
the Book of Daniel refers. It was he who after its revolt 
captured Jerusalem and razed it to the ground (586 B. C), 
an event of such memorable calamity to the Jews. He 
was succeeded by a weak son who was assassinated after 
a reign of but two years, and thus the ancient Semitic 
Empire abruptly collapsed. 

6, 18. Newton. Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727), the 
great English philosopher, made many contributions to 
the sciences of mathematics and physics, notably in 
optics, before making his revolutionizing discovery of the 
law of gravitation. The familiar story of Newton and 
the apple comes from Voltaire, who was said to have 
heard it from a niece of the scientist. , 

5, 19. Darwin. Charles Robert Darwin (1809-1822^,1^ 
the naturalist, as powerfully affected the literature, 
philosophical and religious thought of his time, as he did 
the study of biology. His Origin of Species (1859) first 
announced the theory of evolution: that the species and 
varieties of plants and animals came into being by a 
process of natural selection from lower forms. What 
was a revolutionizing idea for his times is, of course, a 
commonplace of to-day. 

5, 22. Poetry. This definition of poetry of Arnold's 
has frequently been quoted. In substance it suggests 
Wordsworth's belief in regard to "poetic diction." Com- 
pare it with other definitions of poetry: "Poetry is emo- 
tion recollected in tranquillity," Wordsworth; "Prose is 
words in their best order, poetry is the best words in the 
best order," Coleridge; "Poetry is the record of the 
best and happiest moments of the happiest and best 
minds," Shelley; "Poetry is musical thought," Carlyle. 

6, 8. Biographie Universelle. The "Biographie Uni- 
verselle, Ancienne et Moderne," published in a new 
edition in Paris (1843-1863) in forty-five volumes, super- 
seded the one to which Matthew Arnold referred and is 
still the authoritative French dictionary of biography. 

6, 14. Shakespeare (1564- 161 6) and Milton (1608- 
1674). It was none other than Voltaire who called Shake- 
speare "an ugly ape," and said that "he was the Corneille 
of London, but a great fool anywhere else." And again: 
"Shakespeare is a savage with some imagination, whose 
plays can please only in London and Canada." 

The antipathy to Milton shown by the Catholic French 
of the Bourbon period is largely accounted for by his 



NOTES AND COMMENT 207 

part, as Cromwell's secretary, in the overthrow of the 
Catholic House of Stuart. In his Life of Cromwell^ Ville- 
main speaks of Milton's career as "one of the most de- 
plorable prostitutions of genius," and of the poet as 
"animated by a fiery democratic zeal." 

Needless to say, these two opinions, in the one instance 
personal and in the other partisan, have long since been 
forgotten in the generous appreciation of Shakespeare 
and Milton by the French people. 

6, 21. Comeille. Pierre Corneille (1606-1684), was 
one of the greatest tragic poets and dramatists of France. 
Modern French drama dates from Le Cid (1636), a ro- 
mantic drama founded on the exploits of Ruy Diaz, the 
Spanish hero. Most of his works, however, are on classic 
themes. "Corneille is to Shakespeare as a dipt hedge is 
to a forest," was Doctor Johnson's patriotic retort when 
the remarks of Voltaire, cited above, were quoted to him. 

6, 21. Victor Hugo (1802- 1885): the greatest French 
poet of his time, besides being a distinguished dramatist, 
essayist, and novelist. He was also something of a pol- 
itician, serving for a time in the French senate. In liter- 
ature he was the leader of the Romantic movement during 
his time. His novel Les Miserables appeared in 1862, 
simultaneously in ten different languages. 

7, 14. Samson Agonistes (Samson the Wrestler): a 
drama in the Greek style, and the last great work of 
Milton. It represents the Old Testament hero, blinded 
and bound, triumphant over the Philistines, his captors 
who had sent for him to make sport by feats of strength 
on the feast of Dagon. Finally pulling down two of the 
supporting pillars, he died himself in the general devasta- 
tion. Although the theme is Hebraic, the form and 
spirit are Greek. Although he accepts his fate valiantly 
throughout, the blind old hero is baffled in quite Greek 
fashion by the inscrutable ways of God. 

7, 24. Amphictyonic Court. This was a court or coun- 
cil of the confederated tribes or states of ancient Greece, 
whose duties were primarily to safeguard the temple of 
Apollo at Dephi and other holy property. Indirectly 
from this came the judicial powers of the congress, and 
the regulation of matters of peace and war among its 
members. By this term Arnold means hardly more 
than a "supreme court." 

8, 16. Chaucer. In addition to the antiquity of Geof- 
frey Chaucer (1340-1400), Arnold doubtless had in 



208 NOTES AND COMMENT 

mind the fact that he was largely an adapter into English 
of French and Italian models. There is his translation 
of part of the Romaunt of the Rose from the French; his 
indebtedness to the Italian Boccaccio is shown in the 
story of Troilus and Criseyde, etc.; ?inA even in The Can- 
terbury Tales it is probable that Boccaccio's Decameron 
was his model. In spite of this, however, there would 
seem to be little doubt or difficulty in regarding Chaucer, 
with Shakespeare and Milton, as one of the three greatest 
English poets. Certainly he was the first great English 
poet. 

8, 21. Spenser. The name of Edmund Spenser (1552- 
1599) emerges from "the dark backward and abysm of 
time" as the next poet of any importance after Chaucer. 
The Faerie Queen, with its allegorical imagery, and the 
melodious pastoral strain of the Shepherd's Calendar 
and other poems, have given him the name of "the poet's 
poet." 

8, 22. Dryden. John Dryden (1631-1700), most 
famous as a writer of vigorous satiric and didactic verse, 
was the chief poet of the Restoration Period. He was 
also the author of numerous plays and critical essays. 
The satire Mac Flecknoe, and the lyrics Alexander's 
Feast and A Song on St. Cecilia's Day are among his 
best known shorter poems. Besides these, he has left a 
spirited translation of Virgil's JBneid. 

8, 22. Pope. Like Dryden, Alexander Pope (1688- 
1744) was a satirist, although a less kindly one, for his 
physical ills and deformity seemed to sharpen his wit 
into the most piercing and stinging instrument in the 
language. Representative poems are The Rape of the 
Lock, Essay on Man, The Dunciad, and translations of 
the Iliad and the Odyssey. _ Pope is second only to Shake- 
speare in the number of his lines and phrases which have 
become a part of daily speech. 

8, 22. Gray. Thomas Gray (1716-1771), the au- 
thor of the Elegy in a Country Church-yard, was one of 
the early poets of the Romantic Movement in English 
literature, which later attracted Shelley, Keats, Byron, 
and even Wordsworth. "And melancholy marked him 
for her own," no less than she did the hero of his own 
Elegy. 

8, 22, Goldsmith. Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774) 
was one of the many Irish men of letters who have added 
glory to English literature. He was a member of Doctor 



NOTES AND COMMENT 209 

Johnson's famous Literary Club, and the author of 
poems, of which The Deserted Village is the best known; 
plays, among them The Good-natured Man and She Stoops 
to Conquer; and an immortal novel. The Vicar of Wake- 
field. With Gray, his interest in his fellow men makes 
him a forerunner of the later Romantic school. 

8, 22. Cowper. The poems of William Cowper (173 1- 
1800), picturing the simple charms of nature and the 
pleasures of country life, contrasted sharply with the 
sophisticated poetry of Pope. John Gilpin is a rollicking 
rural ballad quite unlike the serious, earnest character 
of most of his verse. "God made the Country, and man 
made the Town" is one of his finest and most character- 
istic lines. 

8, 22. Bums. Robert Burns (1759-1796), the na- 
tional poet of Scotland, was a common farm laborer 
until he was twenty-eight years old. Actually as well 
as in spirit, this peasant-poet was a poet of the people 
and belongs in the forefront of the revolutionary Ro- 
manticists. 

"The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The Man's the Gowd (gold) for a' that" 

shows the democratic creed of the author of Auld Lang 
Syne and John Anderson. 

8, 23. Campbell. Thomas Campbell (1777- 1844), a 
Scotsman by birth, has added chiefly patriotic lyrics to 
English literature. Among the best known are Ye Mari- 
ners of England and The Battle of the Baltic. His poem 
Hohenlinden, celebrating the victory of the French over 
the Austrians at Hohenlinden, will long remain popular 
for the characteristic but rather commonplace grace 
and power of it. 

8, 23. Moore. Thomas Moore (1779-1852) is to Ire- 
land largely what Burns is to Scotland, although a poet 
of more limited powers and popularity. His fame now 
rests chiefly on his Irish Melodies and National Airs 
(among them The Harp that once thro Taras Halls), al- 
though in his day he was as popular as Byron or Scott. 

8, 23. Shelley. The unhappy domestic career of 
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), so similar in its re- 
sults to Byron's, provoked Arnold's scandalized "What a 
set! what a world!" But those who knew him well 
idealized this greatest of English lyric poets. Before he 
was drowned off the coast of Italy in his twenty-ninth year, 



2IO NOTES AND COMMENT 

he had left a considerable body of poems, full of the fire 
of revolutionary and romantic zeal, Jdonais, an elegy 
on the death of his friend Keats, Ode to the West Wind, 
and Prometheus Unbound are among his best known poems. 

8, 24. Keats. Of John Keats (1795-1821), Arnold 
has written "No one else in English poetry, save Shake- 
speare, has in expression quite the fascinating felicity of 
Keats, his perfection of loveliness." Romantic in spirit 
but with also a love at heart for the poetry of Greece, 
Keats was too soon cut short from a career of singular 
promise and interest. On his gravestone in the Protestant 
Cemetery in Rome was placed, at his own wish, the 
epitaph "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." 
Among his most familiar poems are Ode on a Grecian Urn, 
Ode to a Nightingale, and The Eve of St. Agnes. 

9, 6. Moliere. Under this name wrote Jean Baptiste 
Poquelin (1622-1673), certainly the greatest dramatist 
and possibly the greatest writer of France. His persistent 
attacks and satires on hypocrisy in medicine, in religion, 
and in society in general were presented in dramas and 
farces characterized by consummately clever dialogue. 
Among these U Avare, Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, and Le 
Malade Imaginaire are perhaps the best known. 

9, 9. Klopstock. Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock (1724- 
1803), "was a true liberator. He was the first among 
modern German poets who drew his inspiration from 
the depths of a heart beating for all humanity" (Francke). 
Like the English Romanticists he was stirred and in- 
spired by the French revolution, and his work is per- 
meated with an exalted idealism. His Messias, a religious 
oratorio, has gained him the somewhat inaccurate title 
of the "German Milton." 

9, 9. Lessing. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729- 
I78i),the great dramatist of the reign of Frederick the 
Great, was even more important as a literary and par- 
ticularly a dramatic critic. In the Laokoon he distin- 
guished the separate provinces of the different arts. His 
best known dramas are Minna von Barnhelm, Emilia 
Galotti, and Nathan der Weise. 

9, 10. Schiller. Johann Christoph Friedrich von 
Schiller's (1759-1805) friendship with Goethe was of 
mutual benefit, and in their years together at Weimar 
he wrote his best plays: Wallenstein, Die Jungfrau von 
Orleans, Maria Stuart, and Wilhelm Tell. As a German 
dramatist he is second only to Goethe; his poems are the 



NOTES AND COMMENT 211 

possession of every German schoolboy; and he is a his- 
torian of distinction, 

9, 10. Uhland. Ludwig Uhland (1787-1862), author 
of many familiar songs, among them Der gute Kamerad, 
helped with Kleist, though in a quieter fashion, to con- 
tinue the great Romantic spirit of Goethe and Schiller 
in Germany. On this account he has been called "the 
classic of Romanticism." 

9, 10. Riickert. Friedrich Riickert (1788-1866) was a 
German lyric poet, professor of Oriental languages, and an 
extraordinarily successful translator into German of Orien- 
tal and Greek tales and verses. The lyrics on which his 
fame depends are political verses against Napoleon, and 
others of a philosophical and contemplative nature. 

9, 10. Heine. Heinrich Heine (1797-1856), the most 
interesting lyric poet of modern Germany, called him- 
self "the last of the Romanticists." Blended with a 
lyric love of life are a mocking spirit of irony like Vol- 
taire's and his own native Hebrew earnestness. With 
this equipment he applied a wholesome caustic to the 
many shams and artificialities which he saw about him. 
Like Stevenson, he fought a brave but futile fight against 
ill health and disease. 

9, II. Filicaia. Vincincio da Filicaia (1642-1707) was 
a patient student and the writer of patriotic odes, which 
in his best flights place him on a level with the foremost 
of Italian poets. For the most part, however, his writings 
seem tame and academic. 

9, II. Alfieri. Count Vittorio Alfieri (1749-1803), 
Matthew Arnold has elsewhere called "a noble-minded, 
deeply-interested man, but a monotonous poet." This 
reflects the classical correctness of his poetic dramas. 
He is, however, the most important of Italian dramatic 
poets and he exerted a powerful influence on the literature 
and the unity of Italy in his own and later times. Among 
his works are Cleopatra, Maria Stuarda, and Saul, his 
masterpiece. 

9, II. Manzoni. Alessandro Manzoni (1785-1873) 
author of the famous Italian historical novel / Promessi 
Sposi, wrote also many poems and dramas, the last with 
the least success of all. His literary eflforts were mainly 
directed in the interests of the greater freedom of the 
artist from the conventional rules of his art, and to es- 
tablish Tuscan as the truly literary Italian. 

9, II. Leopardi. Count Giacomo Leopardi (1798- 



212 NOTES AND COMMENT 

1837), the son of an impoverished but noble family, was 
an Italian lyric poet of pessimistic verses which echo 
his years of privation. Learned in Latin and Greek, he 
leaned upon the literature of these languages for a back- 
ground for much of his work, 

9, 12. Racine. Jean Racine (1639-1699) was pre- 
eminent as a tragic poet and dramatist, a contemporary 
of Boileau, Moliere and Corneille. His early classical edu- 
cation among the Jansenist clergy at Port-royal developed 
a stern puritanical strain in his work which a curiously 
contradictory later life did not eradicate. Among his 
plays are Phedre, Andromaque, and Iphigenie. 

9, 12. Boileau. Nicholas Boileau-Despreaux (1636- 
171 1), a critic and poet of the court of Louis XIV, excelled 
in sensible criticism rather than in his poetry, which 
was ambitiously classic and for the most part common- 
place. The satirical and merciless spirit of his writings 
is viewed to better advantage in the work of his dis- 
tinguished English pupil, Alexander Pope. 

9, 12. Voltaire. Jean F. M. Arouet (1694-1778) who 
wrote under the assumed name of Voltaire, led one of 
the most interesting lives on record. As a dramatist 
and philosopher, he fought sham and superstition; and 
against despotism and the curtailment of personal lib- 
erties his keen wit and sharp tongue were ever busy. He 
is doubtfully celebrated as a great atheist. If on his 
death bed he did murmur, "God will forgive me; that 
is his business," it must not be forgotten that the bless- 
ing he had publicly given the young Benjamin Franklin 
was, "God and Liberty." 

9, 12. Andre Chenier (1762- 1794): a French poet who 
revived old literary forms and sympathized, in theory 
at least, with the unfortunate Bourbon monarchy. For 
this latter he was, and quite unreasonably, guillotined. 
He was the author of classical idylls, and most famous 
for his later satires. 

9, 13. Beranger. Pierre Jean de Beranger (1780- 
1857) was a popular French lyric poet of "love, wine, 
politics, sentiment, and Napoleon, whose mighty legend 
he did much to establish." 

9, 13. Lamartine. Alphonse de Lamartine (1790- 1869) 
was a French lyric poet, historian and statesman, 
his temperament fitting him far better for the first than 
the last two of these roles. As a poet he has written 
"§ome of the vaguest, sweetest verse in French literature." 



NOTES AND COMMENT 213 

9, 13. Musset. Alfred de Musset (1810-1857) was a 
popular French poet, dramatist, novelist, and essayist 
whose fame abroad and in the present day rests prin- 
cipally on his lyrics. His friendship with, and later es- 
trangement from, the woman novelist, George Sand, have 
filled many pages of literary history. 

10, 16. The Excursion and the Prelude. These two 
poems, (first the Prelude, then the ^^^cMrj-zon, together 
with a third book) were to constitute an epic unity under 
the title of The Recluse — a name ultimately given to the 
unfinished third part alone. These poems are autobio- 
graphic. The subject was chosen, Wordsworth says, 
"out of diffidence," meaning sincerely that he distrusted 
his own powers to write on any theme except himself. 
Although they are long (the Prelude, in fourteen books of 
7893 lines), these contain some of the finest and most 
valuable passages in Wordsworth's poetry, and many of 
his best known lines. For example, "A man he seems of 
cheerful yesterdays, and confident to-morrows," is from the 
Excursion. 

"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive. 
But to be young was very heaven," 

in which Wordsworth is speaking of the young French 
Republic, is from the Prelude. 

10, 24. Shakespeare frequently has lines . . . which 
are quite unworthy of him. Arnold has elsewhere pointed 
out what he calls Shakespeare's "over-curiousness of ex- 
pression," citing the lines from Macbeth. 

"'Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapped in proof. 
Confronted him with self-comparisons," 

which as writing he calls "detestable." How much of 
this elaborate rhetoric is Shakespeare's and how much 
the Sergeant's who is speaking, could, however, raise a 
question. 

10, 28. Elysian Fields: the home of happy souls after 
death. In Homeric mythology the Elysian Fields were 
placed on the western margin of the earth, on the banks 
of the stream Oceanus. Later they became the Islands 
of the Blessed in the Western Ocean. As a knowledge of 
geography expanded, so the situation of the Fields, in 
order to remain inaccessible to mortals, retreated; until 
in Virgil's time they had safely descended to the lower 



214 NOTES AND COMMENT 

world. Wherever they were, the fields were a region of 
unalloyed pleasures for the fortunate heroes who were 
entitled to enter them. 

12, 1 6. The classification adopted by the Greeks. In 
the preface to his poems in 1815 Wordsworth elaborately 
enumerates the five great classic divisions of poetry. 
This he does mainly to demonstrate how unsatisfactory 
they are for his purposes. They are here repeated for 
what they may be worth as a memorandum: I. Narrative 
(epic, historical poems, tale, romance, mock-heroic, and 
the more modern metrical novel). II. Dramatic (tragedy, 
historical drama, comedy, and masque, with the later 
addition of the opera and the epistle — the last used with 
such great effect by Pope). III. Lyric (hymn, ode, elegy, 
song, and ballad). IV. Idyll (epitaph, inscription, and 
sonnet). V. Didactic (philosophical satire, personal or 
occasional satire). This classification is one that has been 
universally accepted from time immemorial. 

13, 26. Didactic: "Pertaining to or of the nature of 
teaching; intended to instruct or edify; ... as, a didactic 
poem." Standard Dictionary. 

14, 26. In speaking of Homer: On translating Homer 
by Matthew Arnold, 1862. 

15, 5. "On man, on nature, and on human life": 
from The Recluse line 753. 

15, 13. Moral ideas. Arnold's use of this term is in 
the derivative sense "of or pertaining to rules of right 
conduct" (from Lat. mores: manners, customs, morals). 
Ethical is approximately the meaning, if that word laid 
a little more emphasis on the non-physical or mental side. 
Notice Arnold's warning in this and succeeding paragraphs 
against a narrow or false view of morality. His notion 
of how to live would be nearer the Greek standard of 
beauty and simplicity than to some of our own stifled 
obedience to unattractive codes of so-called Christian be- 
havior. 

16, 6. "Nor love thy life nor hate it: Milton's Paradise 
Lost, Book XI, line 553. 

16, II. Grecian Urn. The theme of this poem by 
Keats is given in the lines — 

" Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on." 

These refer to the instruments of the musicians in one 
of the scenes painted on the old Greek urn which the 



NOTES AND COMMENT 2 15 

poet is contemplating. Just as these inaudible tunes are 
imagined to be sweeter than any that can be heard, so 
the lover will always think his lady fair because he is 
never able to win her and weary of her. From these in- 
stances Keats suggests how the charm of Greek life and 
the works of art are fixed as unalterably perfect for all 
times — safely removed from the hands of critics by the 
magic of antiquity. 

16, 17. " We are such stuff as dreams are made of ": 
Shakespeare's Tempest, Act IV, Scene i, lines 156-158. 
In John Drinkwater's play, Abraham Lincoln, this pas- 
sage, mentioned as a favorite of the President's, is read 
to him by his Secretary, John Hay, The "of" should, of 
course, be "on." 

17, 7. Poetry is ... a criticism of life. This has 
been called Arnold's most famous critical dictum. The 
meaning is simply that a man's poetry is a reflection of 
his experiences and the result of the conclusions which 
he has come to concerning life. Since a poet puts into 
his poetry the best that is in his mind, his poetry will be 
an indication or "criticism" of his own life. A really 
inferior man cannot write superior poetry. As Keats 
has it, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." 

17, 17. Omar Khayyam's words, 

"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring 
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: 
The Bird of Time has but a little way 
To flutter — and the Bird is on the wing." 

Thus the idea is carried on in the well known stanza of 
Edward FitzGerald's superb translation of the Rubaiyat 
of Omar Khayyam. The poem is on the Epicurean theme 
"Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," and 
is the work of the Persian poet Omar, who may have 
lived from 1018 A. D. to 1123, but who certainly loved 
the years of his life, whenever he may have spent them. 

18, I. Epictetus: a far-famed Stoic philosopher who 
lived about 50 A. D. Born in Phrygia, he was brought to 
Rome as a slave to one Epaphroditus, but was later 
freed and became a great teacher. Among his disciples 
was the emperor-philosopher Marcus Aurelius. In his 
simple love of the good and hatred of the bad there is a 
close resemblance to the teachings of Christ, although 
there is no evidence that he ever came under Christian 
influence. He himself left behind no written records, 



21 6 NOTES AND COMMENT 

but his utterances were noted down by his pupil Arrian, 
and have been published in various translations as Dis- 
courses of Epictetus. 

19, 2. Theophile Gautier (1811-1872): a French poet, 
critic, and novelist of distinction. A dilettante in many 
forms of literature, he was one of the most picturesque 
figures of the Romantic movement under Victor Hugo, 
and the red waistcoat which he flaunted on all occasions 
has come to be almost the historical banner of the young 
literary revolutionist of his time. 

19, 10. Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope: 
from The Recluse, line 767. 

20, 7. Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti: " Each 
of them god-fearing poets, who sang strains worthy of 
Apollo." — Vergil's Mneid, Book VI, line 662. 

20, 17. Mr. Leslie Stephen, afterward Sir Leslie Ste- 
phen (1832-1904). He was for many years the editor 
of the Dictionary of National Biography, for which he 
wrote over 400 articles. He was besides the author of 
numerous literary and critical studies. Arnold quotes 
here from an Essay on Wordsworth in the third series of 
Stephen's Hours in a Library, (1874-1876-1879). 

20, 21. Bishop Butler. The Rev. Joseph Butler (1692- 
1752), later bishop of Durham, was in his time a most 
influential preacher and argumentative supporter of the 
orthodox Church of England system of religion, which 
he believed to have been revealed to men by a special 
act of divine providence. To his logical mind black was 
perfectly black, and white absolutely white — which 
would be satisfactory if we could all agree as to how these 
colors shall be distributed in the world about us. 

21, 15. Immutably survive ^/c, is from The Excursion, 
Book IV, lines 73-76. 

22, I. "One adequate support," etc, is from The 
Excursion, Book IV, lines, 10-17. 

22, 18. The famous Ode. This is, of course, the Ode 
on the Intimations of Immortality, with particular refer- 
ence to the lines — 

"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 
The Soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
Hath elsewhere had its setting, 



But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
From God, who is our home." 



NOTES AND COMMENT 217 

23, 6. Thucydides (about 399-454 B. C): Greek his- 
torian of the Peloponnesian War and the greatest historian 
of ancient times. The fact that he himself participated 
in many of the events which he narrates gives added 
vividness to his words. He is the first historian to analyze 
and judge the events which he recounts, and thus he is 
the first critical historian. 

23, 15. O for the coining of that glorious time, etc.y is 
from the Excursion, Book IX, lines 295 ff. 

23, 28. Social Science Congress. This refers, no doubt, 
to one of the many local meetings throughout England 
at that time, in which the ideas of Robert Owen, the 
social reformer (1771-1858), and his followers were ex- 
pounded. It is indirectly to Owen that we are indebted 
for the term "socialist." The free and easy ideas of 
Owen in regard to religion and marriage might easily 
have won from Wordsworth the phrase "bold, bad men," 
and it is clear that Arnold himself is jocosely horrified. 

24, 9. " But turn we from these bold, bad men." The 
original, "This bold, bad man," is from Shakespeare's 
Henry VIII, Act II, Scene 2. This is quoted from Words- 
worth's verses To the Lady Fleming, line 81. 

25, 10. "The Sailor's Mother," written in 1802, is an 
account of the poet's meeting with the mother of a sailor lad 
who had died far from home, and of the singing bird which 
his mother had rescued from his effects and carried about 
in a cage, because "he took so much delight in it." Even 
under the somewhat stilted language of Wordsworth's nar- 
rative, there is a good deal of haunting pathos in the poem. 

25, 25. Goethe's poetry was not inevitable enough. An 
interesting light is thrown on this comment by an entry 
in the journal of Wordsworth's close friend of his later 
years, Henry Crabbe Robinson: "Jan. 3d, 1836. ... I 
dined with Wordsworth at Dr. Arnold's; an agreeable 
afternoon, though the main subject of conversation was 
one in which I have no pleasure — in hearing Words- 
worth talk of Goethe, whom he depreciates in utter ig- 
norance." Wordsworth himself is reported to have said, 
"I have tried to read Goethe. I never could succeed." His 
criticism, if correct, was rather one of jaunty impression. 

26, II. Jeffrey. Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850), later 
Lord Jeffrey, was a prominent critic, editor of the Edin- 
burgh Review, member of parliament, and judge. As a 
critic he wrote rapidly an incisive, energetic style, more 
distinguished by shrewd common sense than a special 



2l8 NOTES AND COMMENT 

knowledge of the multitude of subjects on which he 
wrote. When a duel between Jeffrey and the poet Tom 
Moore was stopped by the police, Jeffrey's pistol was 
found to have been empty! " This will never do" (lines 
14-15) is the opening sentence of Jeffrey's review of The 
Excursion, which appeared in The Edinburgh Review, 
November 1814. The article as a whole, while not quite 
so ferocious as Jeffrey's review of another of Wordsworth's 
poems, The White Doe of Rylstotie which came out the 
next year, is in the vein of annihilating amusement tem- 
pered with irony which has long been the professional 
tone of the reviewer. "The case of Mr. Wordsworth, 
we perceive, is now manifestly hopeless; and we give him 
up as altogether incurable, and beyond the power of 
criticism." Jeffrey's horror at the unbelievable length 
of the poem is diverting, unless one thinks of Wordsworth. 
It must not be forgotten, however, that Jeffrey later 
became convinced that his judgment had been too severe, 
and generously apologized. 

26, 23. "After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well," is from 
Shakespeare's Macbeth, Act Til, Scene 2, line 23. 

26, 25. " Though fall'n on evil days," ^/c, from Milton's 
Paradise Lost, Book VII, line 26. 

27, II. "The fierce confederate storm," etc., from The 
Recluse, lines 831-833. 

27, 24. "And never lifted up a single stone." This 
line from Michael (line 467) "focuses in itself the stark 
simplicity of the rustic tragedy," as Professor Lowes in 
his Convention and Revolt in Poetry points out. "The 
very greatest effects of poetry," he says, " are often 
produced without the use of a single word which might 
not be used in common speech." This, which is quite 
the last word in this country in poetic criticism, is a most 
reassuring corroboration of Wordsworth's own theory. 

28, I. Wordsworth owed much to Bums. Wordsworth's 
own lines in reference to Burns show pretty clearly the 
extent of his debt, which was in reality rather slight. Burns 
had shown how success might be attained! in treating such 
simple subjects as Wordsvvorth would wish himself to 
choose, and the lines in question are 

"Whose light I hailed when first it shone 
And taught my youth 
How verse may build a princely throne 
On humble truth." 



NOTES AND COMMENT 219 

Burns' whole attitude toward the subjects of his verse, 
that of personal sympathy, is vastly different from Words- 
worth's abstract use of the lives of the common people 
to illustrate his artistic theories. " The poor inhabitant 
below," etc., is from Burns' own poem, A Bard's Epitaphy 
which Andrew Lang has called "Burns' most sincere and touch- 
ing self-criticism." 

29, 13. "The Highland Reaper": obviously a slip for 
The Solitary Reaper. 

29, 22. The great body of good work. It must be re- 
membered that only half the poems which Arnold se- 
lected are included in this volume. 

29, 28. Dante. Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) was the 
greatest poet that Italy has ever produced, and ranks 
with Shakespeare, Milton, and Goethe among the four 
foremost poets of the modern world. His work of most 
importance is the Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatorio, 
znd Par adi so). His earliest work of moment is the ex- 
quisite Fita Nuova, a composition in prose and verse 
celebrating his love for the lady Beatrice. 

30, 8. "Margaret" is not included in this volume. 

30, 24. "Peter Bell." This metrical tale of Words- 
worth's, not in Arnold's collection, is the rather lengthy 
narrative of an itinerant peddler and his donkey. Al- 
though it contains the famous lines — 

"A primrose by the river's brim 
A yellow primrose was to him, 
And it was nothing more." 

It has also the notorious passage — 

"Only the Ass, with motion dull, 
Upon the pivot of his skull 
Turns round his long left ear." 

30, 25. Ecclesiastical Sonnets. These, 47 in number, 
and composed in the year 1821, give glimpses in historical 
sequence of the growth and development of the Church 
of England. Two of them, on the Inside of King's College 
Chapel, Cambridge, are included in this volume. The 
best of the series, they are indeed among the finest in the 
language. 

30, 25. Mr. Wilkinson's spade. This is a poetical 
address to the spade of Thomas Wilkinson, a friend and 
neighboring farmer — remarkable chiefly for showing 



220 NOTES AND COMMENT 

the poet's sublime absence of a sense of humor. The 
poem congratulates the tool upon its happy lot, and 
prophesies an illustrious future for it as an "heirloom," 
hung high on the chimney to commemorate the simple 
goodness of its former owner. This was written in 1804. 
30, 26. Thanksgiving Ode. This is a declamatory song 
of praise, composed, Wordsworth tells us, on the morning 
of the day appointed for a general thanksgiving, January 
18, 1816, and rather tediously sets forth "the pernicious 
and degrading tendency of those views and doctrines 
that led to the idolatry of power, as power." It is, of 
course, directed against Napoleon. 

30, 28. "Vaudraccur and Julia." This is a metrical 
tale of a French Romeo and Juliet, conspicuously different 
from Shakespeare's theme in its course and conclusion, 
however. What provokes Arnold's reasonable despair 
is, doubtless, the disconcerting vagueness of parts of the 
poem, as well as the equally astonishing precision of 
others. One thinks of the Wilkinsonian spade! 

31, 15. They will co-operate . . . better, and happier is 
a paraphrase of a sentence in a letter from Wordsworth 
to Lady Beaumont, dated May 21, 1807. The sentence 
runs: "I doubt not that you will share with me an in- 
vincible confidence that my writings (and among them 
these little poems) will co-operate with the benign tend- 
encies in human nature and society, wherever found; and 
that they will, in their degree, be efficacious in making 
men wiser, better, and happier." For the printed letter, 
see Letters of the Wordsworth Familyy collected and edited 
by William Knight (Boston, 1907), Vol. I, pp. 301-310. 



NOTES AND COMMENT ON THE 
POEMS OF WORDSWORTH 

(After each poem in the headings are given in order the 
dates of composition and of publication. The lines of 
the poems are numbered continuously, and the numerals 
refer to lines.) 

We Are Seven, 1798:1798 

In this poem the interest comes from one little girl's 
insistence that her dead brothers are still members of 
the family. In the child's flat refusal to grant what she 
cannot understand, Wordsworth sees the intuitive wisdom 
to which he alludes in "the great ode." The studied 
simplicity of this and the following poem illustrates well 
the theory which Wordsworth had then recently con- 
ceived: that poetry should echo much of the plainness of 
common speech. In this poem it seems even to approach 
the nursery of the young subject, and not unintentionally. 

47. Porringer: the small basin from which porridge 
is eaten. 

64. Master: the term by which an English rustic would 
naturally address a social superior. 

Lucy Gray, 1799:1800 

This poem suggests the odds against a dreamy imagina- 
tive child in a practical workaday world. 

6. Moor: an open space of country probably cov- 
ered with heather. 

19. Minster-clock: the clock in the tower of the most 
important church in town, frequently the cathedral. 

21-22. Hook . . . faggot-band. With his hook the 
father was tying and tightening up bound bundles of 
sticks to be sold in town for fire wood. 

Star-Gazers, 1806:1807 

The itinerant astronomer, who sets up his instrument 
on the sidewalk and acts as showman to the stars, was a 

221 



222 



NOTES AND COMMENT 



^:> not uncommon sight in London, nor until recently on 
Boston Common. What is the main contrast which runs 
through the poem? 



The Reverie of Poor Susan, 1797:1800 

F. W. H. Myers says of this poem, written probably 
while Wordsworth was in London preparing to engage 
in journalistic work: "He became, as one may say, the 
poet not of London considered as London, but of London 
considered as a part of the country." And the fancied 
effect on Poor Susan of this singing of the thrush is none 
other than its actual effect on Wordsworth. Why was 
this rapid meter chosen for the poem.? The impression 
which the poem leaves is curiously like Walter de la Mare's 
Old Susan. 






'^ 



The Leech-Gatherer, 1807:1807 

"I describe myself," says Wordsworth of this poem, 
"as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight 
by the joyousness and beauty of Nature; and then de- 
pressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects to 
the lowest dejection and despair. . . . What is brought 
forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man 
was, far from all house or home': not stood, nor sat, but 
was — the figure presented in the most naked simplicity 
possible. ... I cannot conceive a figure more impressive 
than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife 
and ten children, traveling alone among the mountains 
and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude." 

"It is only the story of his accidental meeting with a 
feeble old man who was poking about for leeches in the 
muddy pools; yet the poem Wordsworth made of it," 
says Prof. Winchester, "will take rank with the noblest 
verse of the century, and the old beggar who gathered 
the leeches is one of the august figures in the gallery of 
our imagination." 

(Title.) Leech-gatherer. Surgeons used to employ 
persons to gather these leeches (blood suckers), which 
were used for bleeding patients, the old-fashioned cure- 
all for all diseases. 

33. This description of a bracing spring morning re- 
minds us, among others, of Laurence Housman's in A 
Shropshire Lad, 



NOTES AND COMMENT 223 

"Twas in the wind of morning, I ranged the thymy wold, 
The sky above was azure and all the brooks ran gold." 

43. This description of Chatterton is one of Words- 
worth's most frequently quoted lines. 

The case of Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770), the starv- 
ing young poet who took poison at the age of seven- 
teen, is perhaps the best known instance of the cruel 
indifference of the world to unbefriended young poets 
and authors. 

45. The reference is, of course, to Robert Burns, the 
plowboy-poet of Scotland. 

Michael, 1800:1800 

Wordsworth wrote to a gentleman to whom he presented 
a volume which contained Michael that it "was written 
with a view to show that men who do not wear fine clothes 
can feel deeply" and that Michael was typical of the 
Cumberland "statesmen"; that is "small independent 
proprietors of land." Repression and restraint give this 
poem tremendous power, and in it we see Wordsworth 
at his best. The dumb misery of devastated old age is 
here seen with cruel clearness, and the dignity of Michael 
through it all is heart-breaking. 

139. Farms and estates in the country in England 
frequently have names, and The Evening Star is taken 
from a house in Grasmere. 

179. Coppice: a thicket or copse; here it means a 
winter wood lot. 

214. Michael had gone bail or security for his nephew, 
who had been apprenticed and who had been obliged, as the 
custom was, to furnish a bond for good behavior. The small 
fortune of Wordsworth's friend and neighbor Thomas Wil- 
kinson had been almost wholly lost in this same manner. 

386. This simple covenant reminds one of the Old 
Testament days. It is also an act that reaches far down 
into human nature for a father and a son to do a thing like 
this together. 

465. See note p. 27, line 24 (to Essay on Wordsworth) . 

My Heart Leaps Up, 1802:1807 

Few lines of Wordsworth are better known than the 
first two and the seventh of this little lyric. The theme 
is the same as in the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. 



224 NOTES AND COMMENT 



To A Butterfly, 1802:1807 

In a lyric much is suggested, little said. Why does he 
call the butterfly "historian"? "My sister Emmeline" 
is his sister Dorothy. Notice the effect of the last two 
lines, apparently added as an afterthought. 



Written in March, 1802:1807 

Written extemporaneously under the circumstances 
mentioned at the beginning of the poem, the lines have 
a wholly impromptu sound which is most appropriate 
to the freshness and cheer of the motley scene described. 

10. The vivid picture in this line has long made it a 
favorite. 

To the Daisy,i8o2: 1807 

This is one of the many poems which Wordsworth has 
written on flowers, and one of four on the daisy. Notice 
as Wordsworth himself replied to a critic, that it is written 
on they not on a daisy. Not novelty but familiarity is 
the source of much of our pleasure in life. The origin 
of the name daisy (day's eye) echoes this same feeling. 

15. The common English daisy has a yellow center 
and white or pinkish petals. It is a low growing plant 
and is a close kin to what is known in this country as the 
garden or greenhouse daisy. 

17. Usually written morris. This was an outdoor 
dance common at pageants and May games, where the 
dancers were grotesquely garbed and often took the part 
of Robin Hood and members of his company. The word 
comes from Moorish. 

2^. Mews: a place of shelter or confinement. 

y6. Leveret: a young hare. See the opening lines 
of "The Leech-gatherer." 



To THE Small Celandine, 1802:1807 

The theme of this is simular to that of "To the Daisy." 
Of the small celandine Wordsworth has written, "It is 
remarkable that this flower, coming out so early in the 
spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such 
profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English 



NOTES AND COMMENT 225 

verse." The opening of the poem may remind one of 
Keats' explosive beginning of "A Draught of Sunshine": 

"Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port, 
Away with old Hock and Madeira." 

I. Kingcups: buttercups. 

16. The reference is, of course, to lines 9 and 10. 

31-32. This refers, Wordsworth tells us, to "its habit 
of shutting itself up and opening out according to the 
de'gree of light and temperature of the air." 



"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," 1804:1807 

This is perhaps the most frequently quoted poem of 
Wordsworth's; and its sprightly, musical movement will 
long make it a favorite. Here is reflected Wordsworth's 
regular habit of thought, where a charming view suggests 
"something more." The dafi^odils mean more to him 
than the primrose did to Peter Bell. Daffodils still grow 
wild on the banks of Ullswater as they did in the poet's 
day. 

21. That inward eye: memory, especially the power 
of visualizing bygone scenes. 

21-22. These, the two finest lines in the poem, Words- 
worth tells us were contributed by his wife. 

To A Skylark, 1805:1807 

In this poem Wordsworth takes us up with the ascending 
flight of the bird to its highest point, at which the sky- 
lark bursts into song. Adventurous joy is the keynote. 
Twenty years later Wordsworth, in writing again on the 
skylark, thinks more of the return of the bird to her nest: 

"Type of the wise who soar but never roam; 

True to the kindred points of heaven and home." 

See To a Skylark^ page 98. 

Compare these two poems with Shelley's To a Skylark. 

Expostulation and Reply, 1798:1798 

This poem, we have been told, is a favorite among the 
Quakers. The "wise passiveness" describes better than 
pages possibly could Wordsworth's patient waiting on 
the moods of nature. 



226 NOTES AND COMMENT 



The Tables Turned, 1798:1798 

In this poem, William carries the warfare into the 
enemy's camp, and like Duke Frederick in As You Like 
It, finds "books in the running brooks, sermons in stones." 

10. Linnet: a European song-bird allied to the finch and 
red poll. 

13. Throstle: the thrush. 

21-24. These lines sum up Wordsworth's whole ar- 
ticle of faith in nature. To deny this truth is to be 
blind to a good half of Wordsworth, although such denial 
puts one in the respectable company of Lord Morley who 
says that "such a proposition cannot be seriously taken 
as more than a half playful sally for the benefit of some 
too bookish friend. No impulse from a vernal wood can 
teach us anything at all of moral evil and good." 

32. This idea is echoed in Walt Whitman's "I loaf 
and invite my soul." 

To Hartley Coleridge, 1802:1807 

This is one of the finest descriptions of a child in the 
language. Universal testimony, from peasant to poet, 
tells of the charm of Coleridge's son as a child and his 
winning nature as an older man. Although li^ lived to 
be fifty-three and wrote some verses of great beauty, his 
character was unstable and his life failed to fulfill Words- 
worth's prophecy. Through his life, however, he cer- 
tainly did preserve "a young lamb's heart among the 
full-grown flocks." He was known in the Grasmere Vale 
as "the children's laureate." 



"0 Nightingale, Thou Surely Art," 1807:1807 

Wordsworth's attitude toward the nightingale, though 
vastly different from that of most poets who have written 
about it — especially Keats, — is wholly characteristic. See 
note on To a Skylark. 

6. "It was a very old notion, alluded to by Shake- 
speare, that on this day [Valentine's day! birds begin to 
mate." — Webster, 

II. Stock-dove. This is the common European wild 
pigeon, so named from its habit of nesting in the stocks, 
or trunks, of trees. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 227 

"Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known," 1799:1800 

This poem and the four poems that follow, all com- 
posed in 1799, are known as "the Lucy poems." Con- 
cerning them Wordsworth has left no word, nor is it 
known that he ever alluded to them. There is a general 
belief that, written some time after the events themselves, 
they preserve the memory of a period of powerful emotion. 
Who Lucy really was we do not know and cannot do 
better than to respect Wordsworth's reticence. The 
eerie spell of moonlit spaces of English countryside, the 
isolation of the scene, the haunting beauty of the girl, 
and the memory of her that the poet cannot get out of 
his mind form five memorable lyrics. Needless to say, 
they are in a style and spirit which Wordsworth never 
repeated. 

To THE Cuckoo, 1804:1807 

So full of music is the poem, in meter and choice of 
words, that it is difficult to believe the author so destitute 
of a musical ear as tradition says. It is, however, easy 
to imagine Wordsworth chanting the words aloud to 
himself as he did all of his work, "And he would start a 
bumming," said a Westmoreland peasant of the poet, 
"and it was bum, bum, bum, stop; then bum, bum, bum 
reet down till t'other end, and then he'd set down and 
git a bit o'paper out and write a bit." Wordsworth was 
also very fond of cuckoos; his devotion, indeed, extended 
even to cuckoo clocks, of which there was an unusual 
number at Rydal Mount. 

6. Thy twofold shout. This line, like many in the 
poem, suggests with its plenitude of vowels the cuckoo 
call of the bird. 

16. Anyone who has tried to locate the cuckoo or the 
whip-poor-will from its call knows its ventriloquistic 
quality. 

To A Skylark, 1825:1827 

Compare with the poem on the same subject on page 
80 and read the note. 

"She was a Phantom of Delight," 1804:1807 

This is the poet's portrait of Mrs. Wordsworth — a 
"steel true and blade straight," like Stevenson's char- 
acterization of his wife. 



228 NOTES AND COMMENT 

22. The choice of the word machine has been crit- 
icized as unpoetic. The design is obviously to emphasize 
the contrast between the ethereal first impression and 
the later reassuringly practical one; and a homely word 
does this best. 



The Solitary Reaper, 1803:1807 

In this poem one feels the lyric charm of a young poet, 
with passages in it which might have come from Shelley. 
It was not until later that Wordsworth turned to that 
style of pomp and splendor which echoes through the 
"Ode on the Intimations of Immortality" and many of 
the sonnets, such as the one on Milton. 

16. Hebrides: a group of islands off the northwestern 
coast of Scotland, chosen here on account of their remote 
and cheerless character. 

19-20. For the suggestion of almost infinitely much 
in few words these two lines* are unrivaled. 



Yarrow Unvisited, 1803:1807 

This is one of several poems which were the outcome of 
a walking tour in Scotland with his sister Dorothy, who 
is the "winsome Marrow." The thought, or possibly the 
fear, that expectation is fairer than realization is a poetic 
one, although Wordsworth later wrote: "We declined 
going in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, 
I will frankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the 
poem on the occasion," — which does not diminish the 
charm of the fancy. 

(Title.) Yarrow: a stream celebrated by Scott as well 
as by Wordsworth. The loch of the Lowes and St. Mary's 
Loch take their waters near the source of Yarrow Cleugh, 
and from the latter lake the Yarrow flows for 16 miles and 
then empties into the Ettrick near Selkirk. 
6. Marrow: a companion. (Scot.) 
8. Braes: slopes. (Scot.) 

20. Lintwhite: thistle finch, or linnet, (chiefly Scot.) 

33. Holms: oaks. 

35. Frae: from. (Scot.) 

40. Dale: a vale, or valley. 

41. Kine: cattle. 

64. Bonny: fair, charming. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 229 



Yarrow Visited, 1814:1815 

This first visit of Wordsworth's to Yarrow was made 
in company with the shepherd-poet James Hogg, known 
as the Ettrick Shepherd. The vale of Yarrow is richer 
in associations with the tender, poetic, or thrilling his- 
tories of the old Border warfare than any other place in 
the Lowlands. Wordsworth's allusions are to the tales 
of Border Minstrelsy in Sir Walter Scott's collection of 
ballads. 

55. Newark's Towers. This was the old castle of 
Newark in which King John died in 1216. It was built 
early in the twelfth century, and its ruins are now part 
of a public park. 

Yarrow Revisited, 1831:1835 

The spirit of Wordsworth's second visit to the Yarrow 
was far more sober than the first, seventeen years before. 
With Wordsworth, his daughter Dora, and others on 
this occasion, was Sir Walter Scott, who accompanied 
the party as far as Newark Castle on this his last visit to 
his favorite haunts along the Yarrow before his departure 
for Italy in a vain search for health. From Italy Scott 
returned desperately ill and died at Abbotsford, the fol- 
lowing year. See Sonnet XXVIII and the note. 
8. Great Minstrel of the Border is Scott. 

50. Eildon-hill. The Eildon Hills consist of three peaks 
in the same group and are in Roxburghshire, Scotland. 
The tallest, 1385 feet, commands a superb prospect, and all 
are rich in history and legend. 

50. Cheviot. The culminating point of the Cheviot 
Hills is known as The Cheviot, a peak of 2676 feet in 
height, covered with rich green sward, on which are 
pastured a celebrated breed of sheep. 

52. Tweed. The Tweed is the principal river of Scot- 
land. Rising at Tweed's Well in Peebleshire, it flows 
for ninety-seven miles and empties into the North 
Sea at Berwick. Among its chief tributaries are Ettrick 
Waters, the Leader, and Teviot. It passes the towns of 
Melrose and Abbotsford. 

53. Sorrento: now a famous summer resort in Italy 
in the province of Naples and on the southeastern side 
of the famous Bay. 



230 NOTES AND COMMENT 

6i. Tiber. The "yellow Tiber" of Vergil is the larg- 
est river in Italy. Flowing from the Apennines in Tus- 
cany to the Mediterranean, its course is 260 miles. 
Rome and Perugia are on the Tiber. Wordsworth would 
naturally turn from the Tweed, the foremost river in 
Scotland, to the Tiber — both rivers famed in song and 
story. 

89. Localized Romance: that is, romantic scenes re- 
counted in the ballads and here brought to mind by the 
sight of their settings. 

103. "Last Minstrel." The reference is to Scott's 
Lay of the Last Minstrel. This is both a tribute and a 
prophecy, in that Scott's own success as minstrel has 
belied the title of his own poem; and in line 107 follows 
the belief that the Yarrow will inspire future bards or 
minstrels. 

At THE Grave OF Burns, 1803:1845 

"Burns has been cruelly used, both dead and alive," 
Wordsworth wrote to his friend Robinson. "He asked 
for bread — no, he did not ask it, he endured the want of 
it with silent fortitude — and ye gave him a stone. It 
is worse than ridiculous to see the people of Dumfries 
coming forward with their pompous mausoleum, they 
who persecuted and reviled him with such low-minded 
malignity. Burns might have said to that town when 
he was dying, Ingrata — non possidetis ossa meal" The 
meter of this poem was a favorite of Burns' and thus 
echoes the sound of To a Mouse or To a Mountain Daisy. 

39. Criffel: a hill in Kirkcudbright, in the south of 
Scotland, 1867 feet high. This one can see from Skiddaw, 
across the Solway Firth. 

40. Skiddaw: a mountain in Cumberland, three 
miles north of Keswick, distinguished for its fine scenery 
and for the lakes in its different hollows and near its base. 
It is 3022 feet high. 

42. Just as CrifFel, although near neighbor to Skiddaw, 
has never met it, a kindred spirit, so Wordsworth had 
never met Burns — and regrets it. Of other poets of his 
time with whom Wordsworth would have had much in 
common — Shelley, Byron, Keats — he knew only the 
last, and him but slightly. 

50. "Poor Inhabitant below" is quoted from Burns* 
J Bard's Epitaph, and refers to himself. See Arnold's 
"Essay," page 8, and the note. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 23 1 

53. Gowans: daisies. (Scot.) "And pu'd the gowans 
fine," Auld Lang Syne. 

84. Seraphim. These were one of the higher order 
of angels. This word, it should be remembered, is the 
Hebraic plural for "seraph." 

Laodameia, 1814:1815 

It was the incident of the trees withering periodically, 
Wordsworth tells us, that first put the subject of the 
poem into his mind, "and I wrote it with the hope of 
giving it a loftier tone than, so far as I know, has ever 
been given to it by any of the ancients who have treated 
it. It cost me more trouble than almost anything of 
equal length I have ever written." 

The original story is that when Laodameia heard of 
the death of Protesilaos, her husband, she caused an 
image to be made of him, which she refused to allow out 
of her sight. Thereupon her father, Acastus, in the hope 
of distracting her mind, had the image burned. Laoda- 
meia, in her grief, threw herself into the flames and per- 
ished. Ovid, in his telling of the story, introduces the 
return to earth of Protesilaos for three hours. When 
his time is up, be begs Laodemeia to accompany him 
back to Hades, which she very willingly does. Protesi- 
laos was the first Greek warrior killed before Troy, falling 
in accordance with the prophecy that the first of the in- 
vaders to leap from the ships on the Trojan coast must 
die. 

Wordsworth constructs the character of Protesilaos 
anew, and alters the occasion of Laodameia's entrance to 
Hades. Why.? Underneath the close copy of the classic 
style of the sixth book of the JEneid, is the great theme 
of the poem — "fervent, not ungovernable love," a con- 
dition which Wordsworth himself was better able to 
meet than most persons on this earth. 
6. Jove: ruler of gods and men. 

18. Mercury. Among the duties of the messenger of 
the gods was to act as guide to mortals — after death 
as well as living. In this former role he conducted the 
souls of the departed to the lower-world, sacrifices were 
made to him on the occasion of deaths, and in general 
he acted as intermediary between the two worlds. 

19. Hermes: Mercury. 

43. Delphic oracle. The most celebrated of the Gre- 



232 NOTES AND COMMENt 

cian oracles was that of Apollo at Delphi, oil the slopes 
of Parnassus in Phocis. 

48. Hector: the son of Priam, king of Troy. 

59. Redundant: luxuriant. 

65. Parcae: the three Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and 
Atropos, who respectively spun, measured, and cut the 
thread of a mortal's life. 

66. Stygian: characteristic of the river Styx, a river 
in Hades; hence, "deathly." 

71. Erebus: properly the dark, gloomy passage-way 
from the lower to the upper world, but here used for the 
lower world itself. 

74-75. These lines have been quoted to describe 
Wordsworth's temperament, and to show, for example, 
his aversion to such parade of passions as Byron's. 

81. Alcestis was the wife of Admetus, king of Pherae. 
Apollo persuaded the Parcae to grant Admetus deliverance 
from death if his father, mother, or wife would die in 
his place. Only his wife was willing to make the sacri- 
fice. Hercules, however, lay in wait at the chamber 
of the dying queen and forced Death to give up his 
victim. 

83-84. One of the kindly acts of the sorceress Medea 
was restoring youth to ^Eson, father of her husband 
Jason, on their return to lolcus from her home in Colchis. 
The story is variously told, and the commonest version 
is that iEson had really been killed in the absence of his 
son on the Argonautic expedition. What Medea did, in 
this account, was to slay Peleas, the uncle of Jason who 
had usurped the throne, under pretext of a plan for re- 
storing his youth. 

95. Elysian: "like that of the Elysian fields"; hence 
"heavenly." 

120. Aulis: the harbor in Boeotia, where the Grecian 
ships congregated before sailing for Troy. 

168. Hellespont: now the Dardanelles, a long strait 
which joins the Propontis (Sea of Marmora) with the 
iEgean Sea. 

169-174. A magnificent temple was erected to Pro- 
tesilaos, celebrated in antiquity for the historic love be- 
tween his wife and himself, around which the nymphs 
planted elm trees which died down as soon as they had 
grown up sufficiently to catch a glimpse of Ilium, or Troy. 
From the roots fresh branches then sprang up, and the 
process was repeated. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 233 

Character of the Happy Warrior, 1806:1807 

Wordsworth has told us that the career of Lord Nelson, 
the great admiral, suggested the main theme of this 
poem, and that in such few details as Lord Nelson fell 
short, the character of the poet's brother John supplied 
the deficiency. Capt. John Wordsworth was drowned 
in 1805, while commanding the East India Company's 
merchantman "Abergavenny," which was wrecked on the 
Shambles off the Bill of Portland. Myers says, "This 
short poem is in itself a manual of greatness; there is a 
Roman majesty in its simple and weighty speech." 

12-20. These lines recall Nelson's "womanly tender- 
ness, the almost exaggerated feeling for others' pain, 
which showed itself memorably in face of the blazing 
Orient, and in the harbor at TenerifFe, and in the cockpit 
at Trafalgar." — Myers. 

45-52. These lines bring to mind that famous final 
hour of the great admiral at Trafalgar. 

71. This reminds one rather of Nelson's cry at the 
battle of Cape St. Vincent, "Westminster Abbey or 
victory!" 

75-76. Here is an echo, perhaps unconscious, of Nel- 
son's "England expects every man to do his duty." 

To the preceding quotations, the grim spirit of another 
of Nelson's utterances might well be added: "In case 
signals cannot be seen or clearly understood, no captain 
can do wrong if he places his ship alongside that of an 
enemy." 

Ode to Duty, 1805:1807 

This noble ode reveals the ruling spirit of Wordsworth — 
rnoderation and restraint. A democrat he permitted 
himself to be called, but insisted that he stood only for 
democracy governed by wisdom and order. No one can 
help feeling the power of the deep-toned cadences of the 
organ-like peals of these verses. It is modeled, Words- 
worth tells us, on GvTLy'sOde to Adversity, yihich in turn is 
patterned on Horace's Ode to Fortune. 

The Latin motto, "Jam . . . possim," is taken from 
Seneca, Letter 120 in Epistula Morales. In the original 
the verbs are in the third instead of the first person. 
The passage may be thus translated: "I have now reached 
the point where I am righteous, not by taking thought, 
but brought by habit to such a state that I not only 



234 NOTES AND COMMENT 

am able to act righteously but am not able to act other- 



wise. 



Ode on Intimations of Immortality, 1803-6:1807 

Matthew Arnold, it will be recalled, denied the truth 
of the central idea of this poem, maintaining that the 
memories of childhood were "no great things." Professor 
Winchester, on the other hand, reports that Emerson 
"found in it the highest water mark of modern poetry, 
and declared it to be the best essay on personal immor- 
tality." While this does seem a good deal to claim, great 
and quite ample tribute is paid to it by Dr. William 
Knight, who, in his collection of Wordsworth's works, 
places it at the end as "the greatest of Wordsworth's 
poems, and that to which all the others lead up." What- 
ever the theology of the matter (and the poem is as much 
Buddhistic as Christian), it is an undeniably beautiful 
piece of work and fancy. More than that it is completely 
Wordsworth, almost Wordsworth complete. In it we 
feel We Are Seven, My Heart Leaps Up, and currents 
from other tributaries already familiar to us. It is in- 
deed the great river of what Lowell calls Wordsworth- 
shire, " of which the poet is the great historian." At any 
rate, the waters are clear enough, and we can but concur 
with the author in saying, "To the attentive and com- 
petent reader the whole sufficiently explains itself," — 
and therein spells its own greatness. 

The Sonnets 

For nearly seven hundred years the sonnet has been 
the common metrical mold into which many of the best 
poets have been contented to cast their thought. On 
account of those restrictions to which Wordsworth al- 
ludes the form of the sonnet will not serve all purposes 
equally well, — only when the single thought or "wave of 
emotion," as one poet calls it, can be expressed in a single 
metrical flow and return. The structure of the sonnet 
makes this clear. It is a poem of fourteen lines of iambic 
pentameter: the statement of thought, or the emotional 
wave (as the case may be) comprising the first eight 
lines; the conclusion of the thought, or the breaking of 
the emotional wave, constituting the last six lines. The 
division between the first eight lines (octave) and the 



NOTES AND COMMENT 235 

last six lines (sestet) is always clearly indicated by the 
rhyme scheme; sometimes additional emphasis is given 
by spacing. The pleasure obtained in writing or in read- 
ing a sonnet is in following the solution of an artistic 
problem, which gratifies the ear; and in following the 
thought, which at the same time engages the mind. The 
narrower the channel, the swifter the current; the smaller 
the vent, the higher the stream. To this principle the 
sonnet owes its supremacy. 

(i) The classic form of the sonnet is that of the Italian 
Petrarch, an octave of two rhymes, and a sestet of either 
two or three rhymes. (2) Shakespeare's sonnets may be 
said, roughly, to consist of three quatrains of six rhymes, 
terminated by a couplet in a seventh rhyme. These 
are the two commonest sonnet forms in English, although 
there are sufficient accepted variations to make a third, 
or miscellaneous, group really necessary. 

Sonnets on the sonnet have formed pleasant exercises 
for poets for years, and among the later, and most de- 
lightful are those of Theodore Watts-Dunton and of 
John Addington Symonds, to be found in A Victorian 
Anthology. 

Sonnet I, 1827:1827 

"This was composed almost extempore in a short 
walk on the western side of Rydal Lake." — Wordsworth. 

4. Petrarch (1304-1374). The greater portion of the 
work of this mediaeval Italian poet consisted of son- 
nets and canzoni addressed to his lady Laura. 

5. Tasso (1544-1595). The zuthor of Jerusalem Deliv- 
ered was a most prolific Italian poet who died just be- 
fore he was to be crowned with the laurel. 

6. Camoens (1524-1579). This Portuguese poet was 
banished to Macao for a satire on the abuses of his govern- 
ment in India. 

8. Dante (1265-1321), was the greatest Italian poet 
of all times. (See note, page 29.) 

Sonnet II, 1806:1807 

"In the cottage. Town-end Grasmere, one afternoon in 
1801 my sister read to me the sonnets of Milton. I had 
long been well acquainted with them, but I was par- 
ticularly struck on that occasion with the dignified sim- 
plicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of 



236 NOTES AND COMMENT 

them, — in character so totally different from the Italian, 
and still more so from Shakespeare's fine sonnets. I 
took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced 
three sonnets in the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote 
except an irregular one at school." — Wordsworth. 
6. Furness Fells: hills to the west of Windermere. 



Sonnet III, 1802:1807 

Sonnet IV, 1802:1807 

In 1797 the armies of Napoleon put an end to the 
Venetian Republic, after a life of 1300 years. Not until 
1866 did Austria yield Venice to Italy. 

Sonnet V, 1802:1807 

Toussaint L'Ouverture (1743-1803) was a Haitian 
revolutionist. Born a negro slave, made deputy governor 
of the island under the French, and finally proclaiming 
himself president for life, he was defeated by Napleon, 
who eventually had him brought to France, where he 
died in prison. 

Sonnet VI, 1807:1807 

In 1798 Switzerland was occupied by the French, but 
in 1803 their independence was largely restored. 

Sonnet VII, 1802:1807 

The thought of this and the following seven sonnets 
reflects the feeling of Wordsworth at the Peace of Amiens 
(1802) and towards events which led up to the Con- 
vention of Cintra (1808), diplomatic maneuvers which 
were particularly galling to an idealist. By the Treaty of 
Amiens Great Britain abandoned all her conquests be- 
yond the seas except Ceylon and Trinidad. "It was a 
peace," said Sheridan, "which everybody would be glad 
of, but which nobody would be proud of." This was the 
beginning of Napoleon's career of ten years as emperor. 

Sonnet VIII, 1806:1807 (See preceding note) 

Sonnet IX, 1802:1807 ( " " " ) 

Sonnet X, 1802:1807 ( " " " ) 

Sonnet XI, 1803:1807 ( " " « ) 



NOTES AND COMMENT 237 

Sonnet XII, 1803:1807 

Reference is to the battle of Killiecranky (1689) in 
which 6000 veterans under Mackay were defeated by 
the impetuous Highlanders under Dundee. The dif- 
ficulty was that the English veterans were hampered no 
more by "the pedantry of cold mechanic battle" than 
by their awkward use of bayonets, an innovation, which 
effectively jammed their own muskets. 

Sonnet XIII, 1803:1807 (See note on Sonnet VII) 
Sonnet XIV, 1806:1807 ( " " " " ") 

Sonnet XV, 1810-15:1815 

"This was, in fact, suggested by my daughter Catherine 
long after her death." — Wordsworth. 

Sonnets XVI, XVII, XVIII, 1806:1807 

Lines 13-14 of Sonnet XVI are some of the most sudden 
and most natural bits of imagery one can find. 

Line 13 in Sonnet XVII refers to Desdemona's marriage 
to Othello, in Shakespeare's Othello. 

Line 14 in the same sonnet is a reference to Una (Truth), 
in Spenser's Faerie Queen. 

Lines 9-12 of Sonnet XVIII are inscribed on the base 
of Wordsworth's statue in Westminster Abbey. 

Sonnet XIX, 1806:1807 

This is evidently a translation or imitation of a sonnet 
on the same subject by Michelangelo. 

Sonnet XX, 1802:1807 

Sonnet XXI, 1802:1807 

" Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France." 
— Wordsworth. 

Sonnet XXII, 1819:1819 

"Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky para- 
pet being the summit of Loughrigg Fell opposite." — 
Wordsworth. 



238 NOTES AND COMMENT 

Sonnet XXIII, 1842:1845 

Sonnet XXIV, 1820:1820 

This is the concluding sonnet to a series of thirty-four 
written to the river Duddon, published in a volume to 
which the Guide to the Lakes was originally an appendix. 

14. This line, most characteristically Wordsworth's, 
is a paraphrase of Milton's "And feel that I am happier 
than I know." Paradise Lost, Bk. VIII, line 282. 

Sonnet XXV, 1821:1822 

George has called this chapel "the noblest and most 
inspiring structure ever erected for collegiate worship . . . 
the last of the thoroughly medieval structures erected at 
Cambridge." 

Sonnet XXVI, 1821:1822 

This and the preceding are numbers XLIII and XLIV 
in the series of Ecclesiastical Sonnets, and are by far the 
best of the group. 

Sonnets XXVII, 1833:1835 

"The fears and impatience of Mary were so great 
that she got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty 
attendants landed at Workington, in Cumberland; and 
thence she was conducted with many marks of respect to 
Carlisle." — Robertson quoted by George. 

Sonnet XXVIII, 1831:1835 

See "Yarrow Revisited" and note. It was on Words- 
worth's return with Scott from Newark Castle when, 
says Wordsworth, "in the afternoon we had to cross the 
Tweed, directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our 
carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream, 
that there flows somewhat rapidly; a rich but sad light 
of rather a purple than a golden hue was spread over 
Eildon hills at that moment; and, thinking it probable 
that it might be the last time Sir Walter would cross the 
stream, I was not a little moved, and expressed some of 
my feelings in the sonnet beginning, *A trouble, not of 
clouds, or weeping rain."* Wordsworth's fears were 
well founded. Scott died the following year. 



NOTES AND COMMENT 239 

Sonnet XXIX, 1831:1835 

I. The pibroch: a highland battle tune, usually played 
on the bag-pipe. 

Sonnet XXX, 1842:1842 

"I was compelled to write this sonnet," says Words- 
worth, "by the disgusting frequency with which the word 
artistical, imported with other impertinences from the 
Germans, is employed by writers of the present day; for 
artistical let them substitute artificial, and the poetry 
written on this system, both at home and abroad, will 
be for the most part much better characterized." 

Sonnet XXXI, 1806:1807 

Raisley Calvert, who died in 1795, left Wordsworth 
£900, on the proceeds from which the poet was enabled 
to settle down at Racedown Lodge with his sister Dorothy 
and begin his poetic career. 

Sonnet XXXII, 1827:1827 

Cf. Walt Whitman's "The young are beautiful — but 
the old are more beautiful than the young." 

Sonnet XXXIII, 1833:1835 

Mosgiel Farm Robert Burns hired with his brother, 
and here he wrote his early verses before going to Edin- 
burgh. See Burns' To a Daisy. 



Sonnet XXXIV, 1833:1835 

There is a curious similarity between this and a poem 
of Daniel Webster's on the death of his son, given in 
Stedman's American Anthology. 

Sonnet XXXV, 1806:1807 

Influence of Natural Objects, 1799:1809 

These lines, written the winter that the poet was in 
Goslar, Germany, and later incorporated, with a few 



240 NOTES AND COMMENT 

minor changes, in The Prelude, give vivid glimpses de- 
scribing the schoolboy life of Wordsvi^orth at Hawkshead. 
They form lines 401-463 in the first book of The Prelude. 
58-61. As the skater stopped suddenly and turned 
on the heels of his skates, the landscape seemed to con- 
tinue to move past. 

Yew-Trees, 1803:1815 

The English yew is an evergreen tree allied to the pine 
and growing to vast proportions, commonly seen in 
churchyards in England. Our American yew is only a 
bushy variety. A trunk which Wordsworth has said 
that he also had in mind at the time, he calculated to 
be as old as the Christian era. The autobiographies of 
trees, needless to say, would often make remarkable his- 
tory. 

5. This was probably Sir Robert de Umfraville, one 
of a warring family which became extinct on his death 
in 1436. His even more distinguished nephew Gilbert 
(who died in 1421) also fought at Agincourt. 

Sir Henry Percy, called "Hotspur" (1364-1403), 
participated in the battle of Otterburn, in which the 
Scotch were victorious, and Hotspur taken prisoner. He 
was later killed in a revolt against the king, making com- 
mon cause with the Scots. 

7. Azincouit (commonly Agincourt) was the scene 
of an English victory over the French, October 25, 1415. 

8. At Crecy, August 26, 1346, the English defeated 
the French. Poictiers, on September 19, 1356, was the 
scene of another English victory. 

Lines Composed ABOVE TiNTERN Abbey, 1798:1798- 

Just as the Ode on Intimations of Immortality sets forth 
one of the foundations of Wordsworth's faith and works, 
so these lines announce a second. They show the origin 
and the result of Wordsworth's faith in Nature, and 
merely carry further the idea suggested in the Influence 
of Natural Objects. Nature meant to Wordsworth the 
spirit that lies in the landscape and reacts on the beholder. 

"It is absurd," says Professor Winchester, "to say 
that quartz can generate quietude of soul, or H2O can 
calm the mind. What is it but Spirit that can stir the 
spirit that is in us?" This closely resembles the "Pan- 



NOTES AND COMMENT ^ 24I 

theism" of the Greeks; and there is essentially a strong 
pagan strain in all poetry which worships beauty — whether 
mental, moral, or physical beauty. 

Myers says that these lines "have become, as it were, 
the locus classicus, or consecrated formulary of the Words- 
worthian faith. They say in brief what it is the work of 
the poet's biographer to say in detail." 

I. Five years, etc. The poem, it is evident, is a song 
of praise on recovering his mental poise after the un- 
balancing influences of the Revolutionary Period. 

26-30. This same idea will be recognized in lines 
19-24 of The Daffodils. 

34-36. These are among the poet's most frequently 
quoted lines. 

57. Wye: a river which flows through central Wales 
from PHnlimmon mountain in Cardigan for 130 miles to the 
Severn estuary. Wales was the scene of various vacation 
trips which Wordsworth made with his college friend 
Robert Jones, and Dorothy. 

92. "The still, sad music of humanity" is a daring, 
and certainly a successful attempt to express an abstract 
idea by a concrete figure. 

98. This line has a power like that of line 92. Tennyson 
is said to have called this almost the grandest line in the 
English language. 

French Revolution, 1805:1810 

This extract from Book XI of Wordsworth's auto- 
biographic epic, The Prelude (lines 105-144) gives a view 
in pleasant retrospective glow of all that appeared en- 
chanting to Wordsworth's young enthusiasm in the 
ideals and theories of the French revolutionaries. 

4-5. We may be able to quote, of our own time, these 
famous lines. 

7-8. The reference is undoubtedly to the really ex- 
cellent political and social reforms which the Girondist 
party wished to introduce with the new republic, and 
which were so absurdly travestied by the Jacobins, when 
they came into power, in their worship of the Goddess of 
Reason. 

17. This graceful tribute to the budding French re- 
public sounds like an echo of line 24 in the poem to 
Hartley Coleridge. 

36. Utopia. This was the name given to an imaginary 



242 ^ NOTES AND COMMENT 

island in Sir Thomas More's Utopia, which was repre- 
sented as having attained approximate perfection in its 
laws and customs; \\tnc^ Utopia or Utopian is a term 
frequently applied to a visionary scheme for government. 



Fragment from "The Recluse," i8oo?:i888 

In this poem Wordsworth again considers what the 
poet's proper field should be. His attitude cannot at any 
time be called complacent; and the normal and whole- 
some view of life which Wordsworth was almost always 
capable of taking reminds us rather of the "golden mean" 
of the Roman Horace: "How exquisitely the individual 
mind to the external world is fitted; and how exquisitely, 
too, the external world is fitted to the mind." This frag- 
ment comprises lines 753-860, the concluding portion 
of The Recluse, the title given the third section of the 
proposed epic of which The Prelude and The Excursion 
form the first two parts. 

I. This is the line so frequently alluded to in these 
pages as embodying Wordsworth's great poetic purpose. 

14-18. See Paragraph XXV of Arnold's Essay on 
Wordsworth. 

25. Urania. In Greek Mythology she was the muse 
of Astronomy. 

33. Jehovah. This sacred name of God was never 
pronounced by the Jews. 

34. Empyreal. The origin of the word from the 
Greek {ifx-irvpios, ejULirvpos "in fire, fiery") adds expressive- 
ness to the meaning "heavenly"; that is, refined to fire, 
even be^^ond aerial substances. 

35. Chaos: the confused and shapeless mass before 
creation "in which slumbered the seeds of things." 

36. Erebus. See note to line 71 on Laodameia. 

47-48. Paradise; and groves Elysian, Fortunate Fields: 
the Christian and classic terms for the hereafter. Para- 
dise, originally meaning "an enclosure" and referring 
to the Garden of Eden, has come generally to mean 
heaven. 

The Old Cumberland Beggar, 1798:1800 

This poem, Wordsworth tells us, was written as a 
protest against the warfare of political economists on 
beggars and almsgiving. To the poet's mind the beggar 



NOTES AND COMMENT 243 

was between a poor-house, on the one hand, and "alms 
robbed of their Christian grace and spirit, as being forced 
rather from the benevolent than given by them; while 
the avaricious and selfish, and all in fact but the humane 
and charitable, are at liberty to keep all they possess 
from their distressed brethren." Whatever can or cannot 
be said for Wordsworth's point of view, he has drawn 
a most effective picture of pure spirit, disembodied from 
the physical, which has been pretty thoroughly beaten 
out under the hand of nature and the foot of time. 
"Wordsworth's is the poetry of intellect and of feeling — 
of humanity in abstracts chiefly; and yet what is more 
human than The Old Cumberland Beggar?" ^T>x. John 
Brown. 

73~79- This passage echoes the moral of his friend 
Coleridge's poem The Ancient Mariner: 

"He prayeth best who lovest best 
All things both great and small; 
For the dear God who loveth us 
He made and loveth all." 

85. Compare — "Till old experience do attain 

To something like poetic strain." 
— // Penseroso, lines 173-4. 

92-93. This keen discovery of mere habit in what is 
so frequently accounted reason in man and animals will 
bear further consideration. 

148. Friday was apparently the appointed day for 
the beggar to call upon the housewife whom Wordsworth 
here had in mind. 

171. That is, the work-house or poor-house. 

Animal Tranquility and Decay, 1798:1819 

In an epigrammatic style this priceless little sketch 
rapidly shows us a figure much like that in The Old Cum- 
berland Beggar. 

Nutting, 1799:1800 

"The four months spent at Goslar," writes F. W. H. 
Myers, "were the very bloom of Wordsworth's poetic 
career. Through none of his poems has the peculiar 
loveliness of English scenery and English girlhood shone 



244 NOTES AND COMMENT 

more delicately than through those which came to him 
as he paced the frozen garden of that desolate city. Here 
it was that he wrote Lucy Gray and Ruth^ and Nutting, 
and Tke Poet's Epitaph, and other poems known now to 
most men as possessing in its full fragrance his especial 
charm." 

Stanzas on Thomson's Castle of Indolence, 

1802:1815 

Hartley Coleridge remarked of this poem that his 
father's "character and habits are here preserved in a 
livelier way than in anything that has been written about 
him." Coleridge was then living much of the time with 
the Wordsworths in Grasmere. Wordsworth's sister 
Dorothy said that the two characters here were Words- 
worth and Coleridge, and that the first four stanzas 
probably refer to the former; the last three to Coleridge. 

The Fountain, 1799:1800 

This piece was chosen by Arnold doubtless for "its 
young inimitable charm," which contrasts markedly with 
the majesty of many of Wordsworth's later poems. Again, 
as in the earlier poems, is evident a studied simplicity — 
somewhat more simplesse than simplicite, — as Matthew 
Arnold might have said; that is, a little more elaborated 
and artificial appearance of it rather than the genuine 
quality itself. 

A Poet's Epitaph, 1799:1800 

This will be recognized as Wordsworth's "ideal of the 
poet's high office" — and, incidentally, a pretty faithful 
portrait of the poet's own life as he consistently lived it. 

Upon the Death of James Hogg, 1835:1836 

At sixty-six Wordsworth had survived most of his 
friends and companion poets: Hogg, Scott, Coleridge, 
Lamb, Crabbe, and Mrs. Hemans. This poem, though oc- 
casioned by the death of one with whom Wordsworth had 
less in common than with the others, reveals the poet in a 
mood of genuine loneliness which can easily be appreciated. 
It was the Ettrick Shepherd, it will be remembered, 
with whom Wordsworth first visited Yarrow; Scott he 



NOTES AND COMMENT 245 

loved, although not caring for his poetry; Coleridge, "the 
rapt one, of the godlike forehead" had been nearer to 
him than anyone except his sister Dorothy; to know 
Lamb, the witty, whimsical essayist was to be fascinated 
by him; the poetry of Crabbe, so much more realistic 
and pungent than his own, had more nearly resembled 
Wordsworth's than that of any other poet of his day; and 
of Mrs. Hemans, who had visited several times at his 
house, Wordsworth has written: "There was much sym- 
pathy between us, and, if opportunity had been allowed 
me to see more of her, I should have loved and valued 
her accordingly." An old man's poem, it is a fitting one 
to conclude this volume. 



QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 
ON ARNOLD'S ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH 

Read the entire essay through carefully, although not 
particularly studying it, for a general impression. Then, 
after reading the Introductory Sketches of Arnold and Words- 
worth, ask yourself the following questions: 

I. When was Wordsworth's poetry at the height of its 
popularity? How do you account for that? 2. What are the 
successive steps by which Arnold justifies his edition of 
Wordsworth's poems? 3. What was Arnold's purpose in 
making this collection of poems? Why was selection neces- 
sary? 4. What, according to Arnold, is the most important 
quality in Wordsworth's poetry? Explain. Is this very 
excellence capable of harming the poet's reputation in some 
quarters? 5. How should you briefly describe Wordsworth's 
style? Would the poems be likely to gain attention if con- 
tributed to magazines to-day? 6. What defects are we likely 
to recognize in Wordsworth's poetry? 7. What qualifications 
should you judge Arnold had for editing a volume of Words- 
worth's poems? 8. Does Arnold write like a scholar, a public 
speaker, a novelist, a great conversationalist? Has he himself 
a "heightened and telling way of putting things?" How does 
it differ from Macaulay's? 

Questions for More Careful Study 

(The numbers of the following questions refer to the para- 
graphs of the Essay.) 

I. Was the popularity of 1830-1840 probably very encourag- 
ing to Wordsworth? In what part of his long career as a poet 
did it come? Would Scott and Byron appeal to the same class 
of readers as Wordsworth? What does Arnold mean, then, by 
"this public"? In what way does this paragraph serve 
appropriately as an introduction to the essay and selections of 
Wordsworth's poems? 2. What three things assisted the 
growth of Wordsworth's fame at this time? Why was it par- 
ticularly helpful to a poet like Wordsworth to be popular in a 
place like Cambridge? What suggestion does Arnold make 
of the nature of much of Wordsworth's fame elsewhere? 

247 



248 QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 

3. What qualities in a poet's work make it popular? Briefly 
contrast the poetry of Tennyson and of Wordsworth. Why 
was not the rapid rise of Tennyson quite fatal to Wordsworth's 
reputation? What element of the reading public, according 
to Arnold, did Tennyson attract? 4. What subject have 
paragraphs three and four in common? What has been done 
since 1850 to sustain the reputation of Wordsworth? 5-1 1. 
(Read through these seven paragraphs which have a unity in 
themselves — the justification for a new volume of Words- 
worth's poems at this time, 1879.) Re-state in your own words 
the quotation from M. Renan. Does "vanity" here mean 
"emptiness, futility"? Does it anywhere mean "petty pride, 
conceit"? Is it necessary to spend so much space establishing 
the "glory" of a poet? Do you agree that the fame of the 
poets of a country is as important as her reputation as a 
nation or the splendor of her civilization? Is there a reason 
why England excels in her poets and men of science, rather 
than in painters and musicians? Has time changed the cor- 
rectness of Arnold's estimate? Can Arnold be accused of 
"provincial infatuation" in speaking well of the English poets? 
What are the distinguishing "gifts and excellencies" of the 
following poets: Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, 
Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, Scott, Campbell, Moore, Byron, 
Shelley, Keats? On what grounds is Chaucer ruled out of the 
comparison? Should he be? What are the three qualities of 
Wordsworth which make his poetry superior to that of the 
lesser poets of Germany, Italy, France? Why was the United 
States omitted from this survey? 12. Why, according to 
Arnold, has not all the world long been aware of Wordsworth's 



emmence 



12-13. Why does the mingling of good and bad in his work 
count more heavily against Wordsworth than against Shake- 
speare or Milton ? What solution can you offer for the unequal 
quality of the great bulk of Wordsworth's work? 14. Name 
five of Wordsworth's best known pieces. How many were 
written between 1798 and 1808? Is it fair and proper for an 
editor to do for a poet what Arnold has done for Wordsworth? 
15. What is Arnold's objection to Wordsworth's classification 
of his poems? 16. What classification of poetry does Arnold 
recognize as a standard ? Make a list of at least ten poems, not 
including Wordsworth's, that you have read, and arrange them 
according to this category. 17. Glance over the contents of 
this volume. On the basis of this do you agree with these 
statements? 18. Upon what grounds does Arnold base his 
opinion of Wordsworth's superiority to these six poets? Why 



QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 249 

does he insist that " this is of very great importance " ? Do you 
agree with Arnold's ranking of the various poetic forms? 
Why? 19, Are writers apt to be good judges of their own 
work? Is the case similar with painters, sculptors, composers? 
20. What is meant by "poetic beauty," "poetic truth"? 
Sum up in a single sentence Arnold's criterion of poetry. 
Apply it to several different types of poetry, such as that of 
Milton, Tennyson, Browning, Coleridge, Longfellow, Kipling, 
Service, a poem in a current magazine. How does it work 
out? 21. It will be noted that Arnold finds in Voltaire's 
judgment of English poets the foundation for the chief excel- 
lence of Wordsworth's poetry — its moral quality. Explain 
"moral." Why are didactic poems second-rate? Is the same 
thing true of problem plays and allegorical pictures? In what 
way do the three quotations from Milton, Keats, Shelley, 
illustrate moral ideas? Can you now think of a really fine 
poem which is not moral? 22. Does this definition seem to 
imply that great poetry is written by students for students, 
or by men of the world for persons who take a lively interest 
in the adventures of their very human fellow beings? Who is 
more fully alive: the person who reads, or the person who does 
not? 23. Explain: "Poetry is a criticism of life." Are manner 
(style) and matter (subject or idea) equally important in 
literary compositions? In prose, in poetry, in drama? What 
would be Arnold's opinion? 24. What light does this para- 
graph throw on the preceding questions? Explain the figure 
of speech of Epictetus. 

25. In describing the work of a poet, what would be meant 
by saying "He has taken up his abode at an inn"? Mention 
two other poets, English or American, of whom this might be 
said. 26. What is meant here by "feUcity"? Do humor, 
felicity, and passion seem to you appropriate or necessary 
qualities for poetry? If Burns, Keats, Heine possess these 
qualities, why are they not superior to Wordsworth? 27. 
What does Arnold mean by a "Wordsworthian"? Is he one 
himself? 28-29. What is the meaning of: " Poetry is the real- 
ity; philosophy, the illusion"? Of what real value to the world 
is poetry ? Is the combination of philosophy and poetry a really 
sweet union? What has Arnold already said on this subject? 
What terms which Arnold has already used would appro- 
priately describe these two selections? Why are they not 
admirable poetry? 30. Do you agree that "the love of nature 
is nearly imperceptible at ten years old, but strong and opera- 
tive at thirty"? Why? Are persons correct in maintaining 
that the following are traits of youth rather than of maturity: 



250 QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 

originality, innocence, radicalism, a sense of justice? 31. What 
would be a modern equivalent for a "social science congress"? 
Do literary clubs aid the reputation of the subject of their 
study? 32. What is the real source of Wordsworth's great- 
ness? What is often mistaken to be it? 33. What common 
pleasures of the average schoolboy or schoolgirl would perhaps 
find an echo in Wordsworth's poems? What ones would not? 
Why? Which of the two kinds are the simpler? the more 
permanent? the finer? 34. Would the two adjectives "con- 
scious" and "unconscious" artists describe Goethe and 
Wordsworth ? According to Jeffrey, what was the trouble with 
The Excursion? Was this a defect of Wordsworth's? 35-37. 
(Refer to the Life of Wordsworth.) Describe what seems to 
you the differences in the styles of Shakespeare, Milton, and 
Wordsworth as indicated by these three selections. 

If Wordsworth's style is nearly as simple as plain speech, 
wherein lies its power? What is the twofold reason for 
the simplicity of Wordsworth's style? Is it true that the 
expression of sincere feeling is usually simple? Is this true 
in painting, sculpture, architecture? 38. Why do you think 
Arnold prefers The Highland Reaper {The Solitary Reaper) 
to Laodameia or Ode on the Intimations of Immortality? 39. 
Can you suggest in what respect it is that "the ancients are 
far above us," or what it is "that we demand which they 
can never give"? What are the traits in Shakespeare or 
Milton which make them "splendid luminaries in the poetical 
heaven"? What was Arnold's test for greatness? 40. What 
type of poems that Wordsworth wrote would Arnold probably 
reject? What type would he choose? As you read the poems 
in this volume, criticize the appropriateness of his choice. 
41. Are we led to believe Arnold's suggestion that he is not a 
Wordsworthian, or this statement that he is? Why? Give 
reasons for your answer. In your own words, sum up Arnold's 
estimate of Wordsworth. 



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